6 Dec 2002
I was late getting out of work, too late to meet up with the others all going to Lucky Farm for Scottish Medic Tommy's send off (Bar Kung was closed for the holiday), and decided to just go to my fave place (Canadian Dave's) for a curry, then a quiet night. Not quite.
Last night was wild! As it was the King's bday, there were all these festivals, so the streets were packed (a rarity here). It was also the end of Ramadan, as there's a large Burmese Muslim community, that was a big deal. It was *also* the national day for the Shan State (one of the hill tribes along the border), and some Karen Holiday, so needless to say, there was a lot of festivity. Streets were packed - I didn't realise Mae Sot actually had so many people. It reminded me of why I *don't* like Bangkok: crowds!
I ran into a friend who's a journalist, working for an NGO in Chiang Mai, in town for a few days. He introduced me to the guy with whom he was talking, and then he asked us to join him and some friends at a place outside town. What a fascinating evening it turned into.
I was introduced to one guy and when he heard I lived in TX, said he was from Austin. I asked him what he did, he said "I'm just in business, I'm not doing anything too political right now." I thought 'rather odd to say..why the political comment?' Well, I quickly figured that out. This guy was a Burmese refugee who was hosted by people in Austin, which is how he ended up there. All 5 were Burmese who can no longer go back to Burma because they're black-listed by the govt. Two were BBC journalists (*one was a former mircobiologist; the other the BBC correspondent for Burma), one was a poet and writer well-known in Burma who currently works for the "Burmese Government in exile", another a composer of well known revolutinary music, also working with the gov't in exile (there's a name, but there were so many acronyms last night I was totally confused).
As it happens, Ne Win, the former (hated) dictator of Burma died yesterday, so there was a bit of a celebratory atmosphere. I spent the whole evening hearing discussions of the political situation in Burma, the history, their roles, why they fled, the current situation, etc etc. It was weird tho, because the discussion was so matter of fact. Not passionate rhetoric, just *real* talk of real life. But these were not just everyday people, rather, people heavily involved in the whole movement. There was a lot of explaining to me who was who in the govt, what groups were associated with what other groups, and so on. I used to think I was pretty worldly-wise, and I knew of the Burmese situation, but I felt so incredibly ignorant and naïve. That said, they didn't treat me as such. They were keen to share and quite happy to answer my ignorant questions. I was fascinated - and humbled- by all of it. It reminded me of why a place like Mae Sot is so interesting to work - being on the border it has such a long history, and is a crossroads for so many, but being small, it's so easy to meet people like this. I'm not quite sure I can convey the experience well, I just walked away saying "Wow!" (I then went and had a couple of more drinks with my friend the Canadian journalist, discussing life as an expat vs. a refugee – both 'displaced peoples,' one by choice, the other by circumstance; life in exile, and about how awed we were by the entire situation.)
* the microbiologist turned journalist was interesting - he was helped to leave (read:escape) Burma by colleagues of mine and taken to Oxford to do a medical degree. He did his first degree in microbiology, worked for Wellcome in Oxford, then did a master's in Social Policy at the London School of Economics. That intrigued me, having done something similar in reverse (minus the getting black listed and having to escape from my homeland). He is now a dedicated journalist, tho he doesn't write much anymore. He trains locals - ie Burmese, Karen, etc in journalistic techniques (interviews and such).
Interesting stuff! So that was how I spent my evening. As much as I like the gang at Kung's, they're all ex-pats, and there's a certain, different atmosphere. Even those involved in human rights work etc, don't quite come at it from this angle. I felt really privileged to spend the evening with these people.
Monday, November 24, 2003
House Hunting and the Spirits
10 December 2002
(that's my bike, my flat is on the 3rd floor)
After nearly 6 weeks back in Thailand, I am finally out of guesthouse living
and in my own place. There will be a phone in a week or so.
My SMRU address is always good too. I like mail :)
Short Story:
My move-in is determined by the spirits and stars. Whether that brings
good or bad luck to MY move is not yet clear. Given the adventures of
late, I am thinking my "Good Karma" from Loy Krathong did not quite work.
------
Long Story:
My priorities of "furnished, 2 bedroom/bath house, nice location" quickly changed to "Western toilet - bucket flush ok, exterior walls consisting of something other than planks of wood, some sort of plumbing suitable to sink installation." The way I saw it, if I was living in a thatched hut in a Karen village without electricity, cool. But I'm living in a city of sorts, figured I should live a little better. Was beginning to prefer the Karen village idea (still do actually, unfortunately, being on the border and in KNU territory, the Thai government isn't too keen to have westerners living there).
See one gorgeous place, not available after all. See one new, very cheaply built place, Nope. See my friend Stuart's place. Bloody Stuart, he got it a few days before I arrived, if only I'd come sooner! Seethe with jealousy.... See few more old, falling apart places, no furnishings (I quickly decide to remove that from priority list). Remind myself I *am* in a developing country after all. And I'm not forced to live in a refugee camp. Just reasonably clean and not falling down would be nice. Adjusting to the idea of forgoing a western toilet.
Mon 25 Nov: find an apt, FABULOUS! Not large, but big enough, furnished
with all new furnishings, clean, nice garden, and best of all western
toilet and shower with water heater, and kitchen!!! (a rarity). Not only that, it's above a classy sushi restaurant (rather out of place in the wild-west saloon sort of town of Mae Sot).
(the patio)
Landlord (Opart): "It'll be available end of this month."
Me: "Soooo. Sun Dec 1? "
Opart: "Yes, but I'll double check and call you."
WOOHOOO. I have a place to live. Go to Kung's bar to celebrate with a gin and tonic, everyone asks: "So when's the housewarming party?"
Thurs 28 Nov: Opart calls "Che-lise, so sorry, it will be available on
Tues, Dec 3"
Me: "Ok" silently thinking "Bummer!" Ok, that's just a few extra days.
Go to Kung's Bar, Kung says "Che-rise! How 'bout your house?!"
Me: "Ahhh. Bad subject." He knowingly brings me a g&t. drown my sorrows.
Fri, 29 Nov: Opart calls again: "Oh, Chelise, So so sorry. She is now not moving out til Tues, Dec 10."
Me: "ACK!"
(Fortunately Opart has lived in the US for 20 years, Mexico for 1, so
he's not so taken by my, um, obvious feelings on the matter. In Thailand, one never shows any expression. At least not to the people involved. Sometimes being an expressive Latina/American in Thailand is not so easy. I have become very quiet and shy-like here...)
Opart: "I will talk to her again, I am so so sorry."
Me : "I will keep looking for something else, I really need to find
something. But okkk."
Quickly realise I have no choice. Besides, Catholic guilt kicks in, remind myself I have it so well. I am not living in a crowded refugee camp right? Stop whining. Slowly begin to accept it...it's not a big deal. Keep counting down the days til I *don't* have to eat out for every meal. (Get more jealous of Stuart's cool house)
Go to Kung's: "Cherise! How 'bout your house?!
Me: "Don't ask. Dec 10. "
Kung consoles me with a G&T and says "it just gives me more time to find a turkey for your Thanksgiving!" Good old Kung.
Tues, Dec 3: Opart leaves message, "Your apartment is ready!"
What??? WOOHOOO! I call, he says "Yes, she's moving out today. I'll clean
and it'll be ready for you tomorrow."
me: "Ok, I'll call tomorrow at 1:30 when I'm ready to come over."
Yeah!
Go to Kung's bar: "Celebration!" Woohoo! Mattieu convinces me a second
G&T is required for such a celebration.
Wed, 4 Dec: lug all my stuff downstairs, get it ready for the truck. Call Opart to tell him I'm on my way.
"Oh, Chelise, I'm soooo sorry. she hasn't moved yet. Maybe tonight?"
ooooooooooooohhhhhhh. Ok. Deep breath. Move all my stuff into the nearby lab so I don't have to lug it back upstairs. It's just one night right?
Later Wed afternoon, another call:
Opart: "Chelise, about the apartment, I am so sorry, can we meet tonight to talk about it"
Me thinking "Oh Sh*t plan has fallen thru completely."
Meet at his sushi restaurant at 9pm. He offers me wine, sushi. I'm still thinking "ok, clear sign, all's lost." He hands me a piece of paper saying "this is from my tenant." Uh-oh.
Seems, the Landlady of the house this woman is moving into keeps
determining that said dates are all wrong - "bad luck. The stars say this day for move in, bad karma." Next date set, "Spirits say it not good for house to move in this day." Ah-ha! Makes perfect sense now.
Well, as perfect as one can get with the stars and spirits. (I was told *later* that this is a common occurrence. No one wants to tell you the real reason you can't move on a certain date, they just keep delaying it)
Go to Kung's: "Cherise! How 'bout your apartment? Did you move in? When's the party?"
Ahhhh. About the place.................
The woman moving out is probably as frustrated as I about the move. So, it's "good luck" for her to move on Dec 7. I settle for Dec 10. Just to be sure. I have no idea if this day is good luck for my house or not. Probably not. I will have to get a spirit house and make offerings to my ancestors to protect it. But then, my ancestors will be saying "Cherise, what the heck are you doing there anyway????"
Opart, my LL, own's "Opart's Place" a Thai restaurant in Chicago. Any one there,
should stop by and say you know me :). He was quite anxious to have me move in. I guess he thinks I'll be a good tenant? Or maybe it's just 'cause I'm cute? More likely, just keen to have it settled before he goes back to the US in a few weeks.
Off to Kung's to celebrate! I actually have a key to the place now! (My apartment, not Kung’s Bar)
Next up: "Trekking in Umphang: Adventures in Mud."
Lessons learned:
1. Throw out the fancy hiking boots, and stick with rubbery studs (cheap football cleats)
2. Buy the waterproof case for your new digital camera, you may be
swimming when you weren't planning on it.
3. Downhill skiing on mud is not recommended, in the dark. With a pack.
4. Mother Nature doesn't always comply with "Dry Season begins in
November"
5. Elephant trails are not the greatest for trekking paths.
6. Think of yourself as a monkey.
(that's my bike, my flat is on the 3rd floor)
After nearly 6 weeks back in Thailand, I am finally out of guesthouse living
and in my own place. There will be a phone in a week or so.
My SMRU address is always good too. I like mail :)
Short Story:
My move-in is determined by the spirits and stars. Whether that brings
good or bad luck to MY move is not yet clear. Given the adventures of
late, I am thinking my "Good Karma" from Loy Krathong did not quite work.
------
Long Story:
My priorities of "furnished, 2 bedroom/bath house, nice location" quickly changed to "Western toilet - bucket flush ok, exterior walls consisting of something other than planks of wood, some sort of plumbing suitable to sink installation." The way I saw it, if I was living in a thatched hut in a Karen village without electricity, cool. But I'm living in a city of sorts, figured I should live a little better. Was beginning to prefer the Karen village idea (still do actually, unfortunately, being on the border and in KNU territory, the Thai government isn't too keen to have westerners living there).
See one gorgeous place, not available after all. See one new, very cheaply built place, Nope. See my friend Stuart's place. Bloody Stuart, he got it a few days before I arrived, if only I'd come sooner! Seethe with jealousy.... See few more old, falling apart places, no furnishings (I quickly decide to remove that from priority list). Remind myself I *am* in a developing country after all. And I'm not forced to live in a refugee camp. Just reasonably clean and not falling down would be nice. Adjusting to the idea of forgoing a western toilet.
Mon 25 Nov: find an apt, FABULOUS! Not large, but big enough, furnished
with all new furnishings, clean, nice garden, and best of all western
toilet and shower with water heater, and kitchen!!! (a rarity). Not only that, it's above a classy sushi restaurant (rather out of place in the wild-west saloon sort of town of Mae Sot).
(the patio)Landlord (Opart): "It'll be available end of this month."
Me: "Soooo. Sun Dec 1? "
Opart: "Yes, but I'll double check and call you."
WOOHOOO. I have a place to live. Go to Kung's bar to celebrate with a gin and tonic, everyone asks: "So when's the housewarming party?"
Thurs 28 Nov: Opart calls "Che-lise, so sorry, it will be available on
Tues, Dec 3"
Me: "Ok" silently thinking "Bummer!" Ok, that's just a few extra days.
Go to Kung's Bar, Kung says "Che-rise! How 'bout your house?!"
Me: "Ahhh. Bad subject." He knowingly brings me a g&t. drown my sorrows.
Fri, 29 Nov: Opart calls again: "Oh, Chelise, So so sorry. She is now not moving out til Tues, Dec 10."
Me: "ACK!"
(Fortunately Opart has lived in the US for 20 years, Mexico for 1, so
he's not so taken by my, um, obvious feelings on the matter. In Thailand, one never shows any expression. At least not to the people involved. Sometimes being an expressive Latina/American in Thailand is not so easy. I have become very quiet and shy-like here...)
Opart: "I will talk to her again, I am so so sorry."
Me : "I will keep looking for something else, I really need to find
something. But okkk."
Quickly realise I have no choice. Besides, Catholic guilt kicks in, remind myself I have it so well. I am not living in a crowded refugee camp right? Stop whining. Slowly begin to accept it...it's not a big deal. Keep counting down the days til I *don't* have to eat out for every meal. (Get more jealous of Stuart's cool house)
Go to Kung's: "Cherise! How 'bout your house?!
Me: "Don't ask. Dec 10. "
Kung consoles me with a G&T and says "it just gives me more time to find a turkey for your Thanksgiving!" Good old Kung.
Tues, Dec 3: Opart leaves message, "Your apartment is ready!"
What??? WOOHOOO! I call, he says "Yes, she's moving out today. I'll clean
and it'll be ready for you tomorrow."
me: "Ok, I'll call tomorrow at 1:30 when I'm ready to come over."
Yeah!
Go to Kung's bar: "Celebration!" Woohoo! Mattieu convinces me a second
G&T is required for such a celebration.
Wed, 4 Dec: lug all my stuff downstairs, get it ready for the truck. Call Opart to tell him I'm on my way.
"Oh, Chelise, I'm soooo sorry. she hasn't moved yet. Maybe tonight?"
ooooooooooooohhhhhhh. Ok. Deep breath. Move all my stuff into the nearby lab so I don't have to lug it back upstairs. It's just one night right?
Later Wed afternoon, another call:
Opart: "Chelise, about the apartment, I am so sorry, can we meet tonight to talk about it"
Me thinking "Oh Sh*t plan has fallen thru completely."
Meet at his sushi restaurant at 9pm. He offers me wine, sushi. I'm still thinking "ok, clear sign, all's lost." He hands me a piece of paper saying "this is from my tenant." Uh-oh.
Seems, the Landlady of the house this woman is moving into keeps
determining that said dates are all wrong - "bad luck. The stars say this day for move in, bad karma." Next date set, "Spirits say it not good for house to move in this day." Ah-ha! Makes perfect sense now.
Well, as perfect as one can get with the stars and spirits. (I was told *later* that this is a common occurrence. No one wants to tell you the real reason you can't move on a certain date, they just keep delaying it)
Go to Kung's: "Cherise! How 'bout your apartment? Did you move in? When's the party?"
Ahhhh. About the place.................
The woman moving out is probably as frustrated as I about the move. So, it's "good luck" for her to move on Dec 7. I settle for Dec 10. Just to be sure. I have no idea if this day is good luck for my house or not. Probably not. I will have to get a spirit house and make offerings to my ancestors to protect it. But then, my ancestors will be saying "Cherise, what the heck are you doing there anyway????"
Opart, my LL, own's "Opart's Place" a Thai restaurant in Chicago. Any one there,
should stop by and say you know me :). He was quite anxious to have me move in. I guess he thinks I'll be a good tenant? Or maybe it's just 'cause I'm cute? More likely, just keen to have it settled before he goes back to the US in a few weeks.
Off to Kung's to celebrate! I actually have a key to the place now! (My apartment, not Kung’s Bar)
Next up: "Trekking in Umphang: Adventures in Mud."
Lessons learned:
1. Throw out the fancy hiking boots, and stick with rubbery studs (cheap football cleats)
2. Buy the waterproof case for your new digital camera, you may be
swimming when you weren't planning on it.
3. Downhill skiing on mud is not recommended, in the dark. With a pack.
4. Mother Nature doesn't always comply with "Dry Season begins in
November"
5. Elephant trails are not the greatest for trekking paths.
6. Think of yourself as a monkey.
Housing Update: Nightly Adventures in Mae Sot.
15 Dec 2002
The only bad side-effect of moving? The 6+ dogs whose territory I crossed on my nightly walks home from Kung's started to ignore me. Now, I live in the opposite direction: different territory and new dogs. There are 10, territory appears to be directly in front of my building. Have to cycle an extra half-mile past to get away from them (cycling encourages them, but I don't really want to stop with them nipping at my back tire). Eventually they get bored and turn back. Now I've taken to growling. Seems to work. I figure 5 days of it and they'll start ignoring me. In the meantime, if you hear of a farang woman that goes around at midnight growling like a dog, that would be me.
Still no phone. Repeating the move-in saga. I wonder if the Stars dictate phone installation?
The only bad side-effect of moving? The 6+ dogs whose territory I crossed on my nightly walks home from Kung's started to ignore me. Now, I live in the opposite direction: different territory and new dogs. There are 10, territory appears to be directly in front of my building. Have to cycle an extra half-mile past to get away from them (cycling encourages them, but I don't really want to stop with them nipping at my back tire). Eventually they get bored and turn back. Now I've taken to growling. Seems to work. I figure 5 days of it and they'll start ignoring me. In the meantime, if you hear of a farang woman that goes around at midnight growling like a dog, that would be me.
Still no phone. Repeating the move-in saga. I wonder if the Stars dictate phone installation?
Trekking in Umphang I: Adventures in Mud
originally posted 13 Dec 2002
Cast of Characters:
-Myself, swashbuckling malaria scientist
-Jason (friend of SwRI Paul/Marty who happens to be travelling 'round Thailand at the moment)
-Burmese Guide Mister John
-500 Thai Teenagers on tour from Bangkok
Setting: Umphang, Thailand. A little mountain town on the Mae Khlong River, near the Burmese border, used as a base for treks to the Thii Lor Su Waterfall and Karen Villages.
Trek: 3 hour Raft on the Mae Khlong, 3 hour hike to the waterfall, 3 hr hike to the Karen village, 3 hr elephant ride back to Umphang.
When: The long holiday weekend nestled between the King's Birthday and Constitution Day. 7-10 December 2002: Dry season *normally* begins at the start of November and runs thru April.
Useful Terms:
1. Sangthaews = local long distance transportation. Little pickup trucks, imagine 1970s Datsun pickups, not monster Texas trucks. Bench seats along the sides, w/ roof and railings. (In Kenya they'd be matatus, which I once swore I'd never ride) There are bars inside, like the overhead straps on a subway or bus, so one can hold on. I think the bars are just for farangs.
2. farangs = 'foreigners', mainly westerners. Like "gringo" in Costa Rica, they tell us it's not a pejorative term, it's said with affection. Whether that's true or not may be dependant upon to whom it is referring.
3. "Mai ben lai" (may pen ray)= The motto of the Thai People = "No problems" "Hakuna Matata" "No Hay problema" "NO worries."
Day 1: Sangthaew from Mae Sot to Umphang. 5-hour journey into the mountains. Twisting winding road. My stomach isn't too thrilled; I can't even handle the Texas Hill Country or the Welsh Hills w/o getting carsick. Not much choice. "All part of the Adventure."
6:45am, Jason and I stumble to the 'bus station.' My Thai proves useful after all. Three attempts of "Bai Umphang?" and we discover we're at the wrong 'station.' (bus station = parking lot with collection of trucks) Ach! What's an Adventure without a little confusion? We make our way to the other station - ie, a garage with one truck. We're in luck, the sangthaew doesn't leave until 7:30, we didn't miss it. Maybe it's my good Karma from Loy Krathong?
11 of us pile in. The 12th takes the tailgate spot. The monk gets the nice passenger seat. Lucky him. Thoughts of the perks of being a monk fill my head... We're off. The tailgate guy decided he was better off on the roof amongst the bags. I think he was right. He got to lie down and sleep, or so I thought. Turns out he was sitting up. On the roof. I decide all Thais must be acrobats, or high wire trapeze artists. Their ability to balance is unfathomable. Especially by the rather clutzy me. Though this guy is Karen, as are most people in the Sangthaew (or Burmese), so maybe it's all people in South East Asia.
Stop. Pick up more people. Stop. Little routine maintenance: Oil change. Head up the mountain.
Stop. Pick up more people. Jason decides to join the 3 Karen guys who are now standing on the tailgate. "All part of the Adventure." 1 hour of that quickly convinces him it's hard work. But hey, 18 people in a little pickup have to fit somewhere. Perhaps we were lucky there were no animals to join us, though the raw beef from the morning market under the seat wasn't helping my stomach. My arms are already sore from hanging onto the bars. I move to the floor, better for the stomach.
After 5+ hours, arrive at Umphang Hill Resort. The rest of the sangthaew ride is an adventure in itself, but we shall leave that story for another time. Suffice it to say, my stomach didn't quite survive intact.
Trekking Guy says we need to stay overnight and leave tomorrow. "Um, seems to be some confusion. You said yesterday on the phone if we took the 7am Sangthaew we could leave today (why else would we get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?!). I need to be back in Mae Sot by Monday night to work." Ok, no problem. 3 hour raft, 3 hour hike to the camp. Maybe a little in the dark, but have torches. Will see waterfall in the morning, then off to the Karen village. Mai ben lai. No problem.
Quick lunch. He says "You must leave your pack here." No way. It's not that big, and it's mostly empty. I'm not carrying my gear, including water bottles, in a little plastic bag in my hand whilst hiking up the mountain. I'll smush it to make it smaller. Mr Police Chief Sombat (who owns the company) insists "leave rain jacket. No need. No rain for days. DRY season." I leave the jacket, keep the pack.
After watching 52 Thai Teenage Tourists (TTT) pile into 4 overloaded rafts, Jason, Mr John, Sun-Ni our Karen paddler, and I pile into our own raft. Head up the Mae Khlong River. Gorgeous! See waterfalls. Spectacular scenery. Beautiful day. Sun-Ni is singing. There's something about the Karen and singing. It's really lovely....(well, except at 4:30am).
Mid journey, come across two of the afore mentioned TTT rafts, one of which has sprung a leak. We take on a few passengers, the other raft takes the rest. 2 boys left to deal with the damaged one. They hit a rock and capsize. No one seems worried. Jason and I stutter "um, um, um" pointing to the kids. Everyone smiles and laughs. The boys swim somewhere. Guess they'll be ok, no one seems worried.
2 hours on the river, starts to rain. A little rain? Mai ben lai. "All part of the adventure." New Digital Camera (6 weeks old) inside plastic Ziploc in my shorts pocket. Just in case I want to get it out easily, you know.
An hour before sunset, reach the bank at trailhead. Switch to hiking boots. It's raining. A lot. Cover up with large trash bags with holes cut for arms and head. Thai-style rain gear. I'm thinking this isn't bad, works ok. Mister John finds us three bamboo walking sticks even Edgar would envy. Hike.
Rain. The nice trail becomes a road. Rain. The road on which multiple 4WDs have travelled in the rain, and the other 450 TTT who left earlier. More rain. What happens to dirt when it gets wet? Mud. What happens when large vehicles and many people traverse it? Puddles. Ditches. More mud. More and more Mud.
Sun sets. More mud. TTT walking in groups of 20+. Some without guides. Many without torches. Wearing flip flops. TTT are falling left and right. Mr John, Jason and I are booking it up the hill. Mister John appears to have special feet. Good thing I'm already a fast walker. Hiking boots good. So far.
We remark on how well we're doing, not falling. Mister John calls someone, says conditions "Not too bad. Just a little more of this and it gets better." Phew! This mud walking is hard work. Try to take a picture, it's wet out. Wondering if I should have shelled out the $$ for that waterproof casing for my camera (I'm not planning to go scuba diving with it, why would I want that?!)....
Mud gets deeper. TTT still falling. Jason and I are learning to slide and balance. Wondering if I should have bought those REI trekking poles? This is pretty much like skiing. Mr John still in fast-walker mode. One more step. Slide. Another step. Slide. Lose balance, Bamboo Walking Stick saves me. "Hey this is kind of fun!"
"All part of the adventure."
Despite reminding Jason the night before to bring his, I forgot my torch. He saves the day with his headlamp and gives me his little keychain flashlight. Mr John well prepared. We manage ok. So far. Every once in awhile, see big gash where the road has washed away into a ravine. Good thing for torches. We step around.
Another step, mud up to the knees. Which is better: sinking into the mud, or staying on more solid mud and sliding? Not quite sure. Hiking boots now weigh an extra 5lbs, thanks to mud. Gripping treads? Not even close anymore. Gingerly walk up and down hills. Wobbling left and right, using every muscle to maintain balance. Staying overnight at the "resort" (ie huts) starts to sound like it may have been a good idea.
BAM! Face in Mud. Well, not enough, as my face didn't slow my slide. Instead, the plastic trash bag/rain cover works wonderfully as a sled. Slide a meter down the hill. Hahaha! Hey, all part of the adventure! That wasn't so bad. Trash bag keeps me from getting TOO muddy. For now.
One good thing about the rain - No Mosquitoes biting!
Cherise's motto: "Always look on the Bright Side of Life..." (make sure to sing that with the appropriate Monty Python tune) Ever the optimist.
Decide I'm still doing better than the TTT, falling left and right. Hey, only once for me!
Jason and I discover that balancing on slippery mud works muscles you never knew you had. Speed walker Mr John pushes ahead. "Not much further" (we're 2 hrs into the 3-hr tour. Did these guys grow up watching Gilligan's Island too?).
Hike some more. It's dark, cool but not cold, wet. VERY wet. Didn't Khun Police Chief say it wasn't supposed to rain? (We later learn, it's been raining every afternoon for 5 days. So much for the dry season).
4WDs pass us, or try to. Each one slides back 2 ft for every 1 ft forward. We jump from side to side of the road to avoid the backsliding behemouths. See two Landrovers not going anywhere: buried in mud up to the floorboards. Hah! That'll show them to try to drive thru here.
Slip again, my balance skills are quickly disappearing and my trusty Bamboo stick isn't helping much anymore. SPLAT!!! J very kindly rushes over to help me up. Ha! "All part of the Adventure. One more story for the email right?" We laugh. Mr John just wondering what the heck is wrong with us.
Come to a river crossing. Bridge = Large tree trunk. Hey, mai ben lai! I've done these millions of times. Forget I have a pack on that's now lopsided, and boots with an extra 10 lbs of mud, and the tree has a nice layer of slick mud. There's a bamboo railing. Mr John shuffles across in a blink of the eye. I climb up to go across. Take a step, briefly wonder - "maybe I should sit and scoot my way across?" The lopsided pack, the mud on my boots, the mud on the log – NOPE!
ACK! losing balance, I reach for the bamboo 'railing'. Discover it's secured at the far end, but not at this end. Swings out, carrying me with it. Into the river I go. At least the bamboo gave me something to hold onto. I manage to use my other arm to hold onto the large tree bridge. I'm submerged up to the waist. My pack is only partly submerged. My new digital camera? In my shorts' pocket. Under the water. The river is moving, but not fast. Swim? Remember that I have an extra 20lbs on my back and an extra 10 on my feet. Can't tell how deep it is, don't want to submerge my entire pack. Realise camera is a gonner (but hey, my last camera enjoyed a mud bath/river experience in Mexico, so why not this one?).
J&I are yelling for Mr John to come back. J's on the log, trying to pull my pack off so I can climb up. Only it's under the plastic trash bag so he can't get to it. I'm trying to pull myself up onto the log. Nope. One arm on the bamboo rail, the other on the log covered in mud: I'm hanging there. Contemplating how I might get out of this mettle. Mr John jumps into the water, it's not that deep, at least where he is. He makes his way over, I jump to him, sort of swimming, trying to keep my non-waterproof pack from becoming totally submerged. This IS the first day of a 3-day trek afterall… I make my way over; grab his shoulders, keeping my pack mostly above water. I feel a bit silly, realising I’m actually a very good swimmer, and Mr John is not much bigger than me. But he helps me over to the bank.
J's turn to cross the river. Debates for awhile. Stands up, and goes. I hold my breath. Seems he took lessons in Asian Balancing Skills. Or perhaps it was the Sangthaew training? Makes it across without incident. Reminds me to take the battery out of my camera. I put it in my upper shirt pocket, the only part of me not soaked, tho the pocket doesn't seal.
We laugh. Hey, I needed to wash off some mud right? All part of the Adventure. One more story for the email! Camera? Won't think about that. I'm very good with Denial. Walk another half hour. SPLAT! Camera and battery go flying out of my pocket. Retrieved the camera (tho now it's not only wet but mud covered). Battery lost. The plastic bag over me? Now completely covered in mud. More a hindrance than a help, as I discover 10 mins later.
J and Mr John help me up. Even the muscles in my feet are aching from balancing, or lack thereof. 10 mins. SPLAT! "Ok, ya know, I think I'm all set with this Adventure stuff. Maybe we could do with a little less of it now?" Get myself up, Mr John orders me to sit down so we can try to get the mud off my boots so there's more tread available. Sit. OUCH!!!! I've sat in a bush of stickers. Try to move, Mr John doesn't quite understand, ignores me, we all go to work on the boots. I ignore the stickers now implanted in my bottom. J's sandals are in a little better shape. This is when we realise that Mr John has on cleats - studs far enough apart that the mud slides thru. Wise man. We do what we can. Get up. Mr John insists I dump the mud covered trash bag 'rain gear' (it's no longer raining). Ms-Environmentalist-I-can't-litter protests. Well, supposedly there's a work crew that comes thru regularly to pick up such things....or so J convinces me. He's right. I can balance better. Mr John also insists on carrying my pack. I protest, feeling guilty. Hey, I hiked the Grand Canyon with a full pack. Twice! I can do this! He says it's flat now so it's no problem. Well, I *am* carrying a couple of his water bottles (he's carrying the food) as I had more space. Ok. World of difference.
Step. Mud. Step. Slide. Step. Mud. Step Slide. Mud Mud Mud. TTTs long out of sight - behind us. 9:00pm. Out of nowhere we see the sign, the entrance to the camp. It's not pretty, but we count our lucky stars we made it in one piece. Only 3.5 hrs. Mr John checks us in. In his broken Thai and a bit of English, (Burmese is his first language) he tells the story of my fall into the river to the guards at the desk. They crack up laughing. It's always nice to know I can amuse people, even in 3 different languages.
It's wall to wall tents, but that's ok. Mr John gets lost, but eventually we find our tent - luckily on the end of the line, by the river, so not too bad. Shows us the river path for bathing. ACK! - Steep, muddy, dark. My shaky unstable feet are not liking that. No, let's try the toilets. There are supposed to be wash basins (big tubs of water, with a bucket to pour over yourself). The basins are empty, taps dry, the floors are covered in 2ft of muck. Ok, let's try the river afterall. So 100 people bathed in it before us. All part of the Adventure. Somehow we manage to get down without falling, find a spot where it's flowing reasonably fast, and submerge ourselves (my camera is now in my pack, in the tent).
Ahhhhhh. A dirty mucky river never felt so good. "Good thing I brought the change of clothes" I say!
Jason: "Um....I only have these trousers."
Oops.
Sorry.
Do what we can to remove the bulk of the mud. Recognise that there are degrees of muddiness. We've now moved from 10 to about 5 on a 1-10 Scale of Mud, 10 being Muddiest. Funny how priorities change. Dry as much as we can with one towel between us, put our wet clothes on the tree, and Mr John calls us for dinner. Rice never tasted so good. J & I debate how many times I actually fell. I think 5, he says 3. Felt like 20. Where is Kung when you need him? He'd know. He always seems to keep track of my number of gin tonics just fine.
50 of the TTT stumble in >2 hours later, after 11 pm. Our 3.5hr trek was nearly 6 hours for them. We heard one girl was missing. Never heard the follow-up.
Back to the tent.
The First Day.
There are 2 more days to this Adventure, but this is already too long. The rest will have to wait for part II.
Preview
Supporting cast:
The Dutch Couple
The Danish Boys
Guide Otto (The Hindu Thai/Burmese with the German name)
Village Chief
Waterfalls, more bamboo bridges (17 in total), Karen Village, dinner at the chief's house, missing elephants, more mud. 4+ more hours on a Sangthaew. A delay at the immigration checkpoint. And apple pie with ice cream at Bai Fern.
And a promise to deck the first person to say "All part of the Adventure."
Cast of Characters:
-Myself, swashbuckling malaria scientist
-Jason (friend of SwRI Paul/Marty who happens to be travelling 'round Thailand at the moment)
-Burmese Guide Mister John
-500 Thai Teenagers on tour from Bangkok
Setting: Umphang, Thailand. A little mountain town on the Mae Khlong River, near the Burmese border, used as a base for treks to the Thii Lor Su Waterfall and Karen Villages.
Trek: 3 hour Raft on the Mae Khlong, 3 hour hike to the waterfall, 3 hr hike to the Karen village, 3 hr elephant ride back to Umphang.
When: The long holiday weekend nestled between the King's Birthday and Constitution Day. 7-10 December 2002: Dry season *normally* begins at the start of November and runs thru April.
Useful Terms:
1. Sangthaews = local long distance transportation. Little pickup trucks, imagine 1970s Datsun pickups, not monster Texas trucks. Bench seats along the sides, w/ roof and railings. (In Kenya they'd be matatus, which I once swore I'd never ride) There are bars inside, like the overhead straps on a subway or bus, so one can hold on. I think the bars are just for farangs.
2. farangs = 'foreigners', mainly westerners. Like "gringo" in Costa Rica, they tell us it's not a pejorative term, it's said with affection. Whether that's true or not may be dependant upon to whom it is referring.
3. "Mai ben lai" (may pen ray)= The motto of the Thai People = "No problems" "Hakuna Matata" "No Hay problema" "NO worries."
Day 1: Sangthaew from Mae Sot to Umphang. 5-hour journey into the mountains. Twisting winding road. My stomach isn't too thrilled; I can't even handle the Texas Hill Country or the Welsh Hills w/o getting carsick. Not much choice. "All part of the Adventure."
6:45am, Jason and I stumble to the 'bus station.' My Thai proves useful after all. Three attempts of "Bai Umphang?" and we discover we're at the wrong 'station.' (bus station = parking lot with collection of trucks) Ach! What's an Adventure without a little confusion? We make our way to the other station - ie, a garage with one truck. We're in luck, the sangthaew doesn't leave until 7:30, we didn't miss it. Maybe it's my good Karma from Loy Krathong?
11 of us pile in. The 12th takes the tailgate spot. The monk gets the nice passenger seat. Lucky him. Thoughts of the perks of being a monk fill my head... We're off. The tailgate guy decided he was better off on the roof amongst the bags. I think he was right. He got to lie down and sleep, or so I thought. Turns out he was sitting up. On the roof. I decide all Thais must be acrobats, or high wire trapeze artists. Their ability to balance is unfathomable. Especially by the rather clutzy me. Though this guy is Karen, as are most people in the Sangthaew (or Burmese), so maybe it's all people in South East Asia.
Stop. Pick up more people. Stop. Little routine maintenance: Oil change. Head up the mountain.
Stop. Pick up more people. Jason decides to join the 3 Karen guys who are now standing on the tailgate. "All part of the Adventure." 1 hour of that quickly convinces him it's hard work. But hey, 18 people in a little pickup have to fit somewhere. Perhaps we were lucky there were no animals to join us, though the raw beef from the morning market under the seat wasn't helping my stomach. My arms are already sore from hanging onto the bars. I move to the floor, better for the stomach.
After 5+ hours, arrive at Umphang Hill Resort. The rest of the sangthaew ride is an adventure in itself, but we shall leave that story for another time. Suffice it to say, my stomach didn't quite survive intact.
Trekking Guy says we need to stay overnight and leave tomorrow. "Um, seems to be some confusion. You said yesterday on the phone if we took the 7am Sangthaew we could leave today (why else would we get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?!). I need to be back in Mae Sot by Monday night to work." Ok, no problem. 3 hour raft, 3 hour hike to the camp. Maybe a little in the dark, but have torches. Will see waterfall in the morning, then off to the Karen village. Mai ben lai. No problem.
Quick lunch. He says "You must leave your pack here." No way. It's not that big, and it's mostly empty. I'm not carrying my gear, including water bottles, in a little plastic bag in my hand whilst hiking up the mountain. I'll smush it to make it smaller. Mr Police Chief Sombat (who owns the company) insists "leave rain jacket. No need. No rain for days. DRY season." I leave the jacket, keep the pack.
After watching 52 Thai Teenage Tourists (TTT) pile into 4 overloaded rafts, Jason, Mr John, Sun-Ni our Karen paddler, and I pile into our own raft. Head up the Mae Khlong River. Gorgeous! See waterfalls. Spectacular scenery. Beautiful day. Sun-Ni is singing. There's something about the Karen and singing. It's really lovely....(well, except at 4:30am).
Mid journey, come across two of the afore mentioned TTT rafts, one of which has sprung a leak. We take on a few passengers, the other raft takes the rest. 2 boys left to deal with the damaged one. They hit a rock and capsize. No one seems worried. Jason and I stutter "um, um, um" pointing to the kids. Everyone smiles and laughs. The boys swim somewhere. Guess they'll be ok, no one seems worried.
2 hours on the river, starts to rain. A little rain? Mai ben lai. "All part of the adventure." New Digital Camera (6 weeks old) inside plastic Ziploc in my shorts pocket. Just in case I want to get it out easily, you know.
An hour before sunset, reach the bank at trailhead. Switch to hiking boots. It's raining. A lot. Cover up with large trash bags with holes cut for arms and head. Thai-style rain gear. I'm thinking this isn't bad, works ok. Mister John finds us three bamboo walking sticks even Edgar would envy. Hike.
Rain. The nice trail becomes a road. Rain. The road on which multiple 4WDs have travelled in the rain, and the other 450 TTT who left earlier. More rain. What happens to dirt when it gets wet? Mud. What happens when large vehicles and many people traverse it? Puddles. Ditches. More mud. More and more Mud.
Sun sets. More mud. TTT walking in groups of 20+. Some without guides. Many without torches. Wearing flip flops. TTT are falling left and right. Mr John, Jason and I are booking it up the hill. Mister John appears to have special feet. Good thing I'm already a fast walker. Hiking boots good. So far.
We remark on how well we're doing, not falling. Mister John calls someone, says conditions "Not too bad. Just a little more of this and it gets better." Phew! This mud walking is hard work. Try to take a picture, it's wet out. Wondering if I should have shelled out the $$ for that waterproof casing for my camera (I'm not planning to go scuba diving with it, why would I want that?!)....
Mud gets deeper. TTT still falling. Jason and I are learning to slide and balance. Wondering if I should have bought those REI trekking poles? This is pretty much like skiing. Mr John still in fast-walker mode. One more step. Slide. Another step. Slide. Lose balance, Bamboo Walking Stick saves me. "Hey this is kind of fun!"
"All part of the adventure."
Despite reminding Jason the night before to bring his, I forgot my torch. He saves the day with his headlamp and gives me his little keychain flashlight. Mr John well prepared. We manage ok. So far. Every once in awhile, see big gash where the road has washed away into a ravine. Good thing for torches. We step around.
Another step, mud up to the knees. Which is better: sinking into the mud, or staying on more solid mud and sliding? Not quite sure. Hiking boots now weigh an extra 5lbs, thanks to mud. Gripping treads? Not even close anymore. Gingerly walk up and down hills. Wobbling left and right, using every muscle to maintain balance. Staying overnight at the "resort" (ie huts) starts to sound like it may have been a good idea.
BAM! Face in Mud. Well, not enough, as my face didn't slow my slide. Instead, the plastic trash bag/rain cover works wonderfully as a sled. Slide a meter down the hill. Hahaha! Hey, all part of the adventure! That wasn't so bad. Trash bag keeps me from getting TOO muddy. For now.
One good thing about the rain - No Mosquitoes biting!
Cherise's motto: "Always look on the Bright Side of Life..." (make sure to sing that with the appropriate Monty Python tune) Ever the optimist.
Decide I'm still doing better than the TTT, falling left and right. Hey, only once for me!
Jason and I discover that balancing on slippery mud works muscles you never knew you had. Speed walker Mr John pushes ahead. "Not much further" (we're 2 hrs into the 3-hr tour. Did these guys grow up watching Gilligan's Island too?).
Hike some more. It's dark, cool but not cold, wet. VERY wet. Didn't Khun Police Chief say it wasn't supposed to rain? (We later learn, it's been raining every afternoon for 5 days. So much for the dry season).
4WDs pass us, or try to. Each one slides back 2 ft for every 1 ft forward. We jump from side to side of the road to avoid the backsliding behemouths. See two Landrovers not going anywhere: buried in mud up to the floorboards. Hah! That'll show them to try to drive thru here.
Slip again, my balance skills are quickly disappearing and my trusty Bamboo stick isn't helping much anymore. SPLAT!!! J very kindly rushes over to help me up. Ha! "All part of the Adventure. One more story for the email right?" We laugh. Mr John just wondering what the heck is wrong with us.
Come to a river crossing. Bridge = Large tree trunk. Hey, mai ben lai! I've done these millions of times. Forget I have a pack on that's now lopsided, and boots with an extra 10 lbs of mud, and the tree has a nice layer of slick mud. There's a bamboo railing. Mr John shuffles across in a blink of the eye. I climb up to go across. Take a step, briefly wonder - "maybe I should sit and scoot my way across?" The lopsided pack, the mud on my boots, the mud on the log – NOPE!
ACK! losing balance, I reach for the bamboo 'railing'. Discover it's secured at the far end, but not at this end. Swings out, carrying me with it. Into the river I go. At least the bamboo gave me something to hold onto. I manage to use my other arm to hold onto the large tree bridge. I'm submerged up to the waist. My pack is only partly submerged. My new digital camera? In my shorts' pocket. Under the water. The river is moving, but not fast. Swim? Remember that I have an extra 20lbs on my back and an extra 10 on my feet. Can't tell how deep it is, don't want to submerge my entire pack. Realise camera is a gonner (but hey, my last camera enjoyed a mud bath/river experience in Mexico, so why not this one?).
J&I are yelling for Mr John to come back. J's on the log, trying to pull my pack off so I can climb up. Only it's under the plastic trash bag so he can't get to it. I'm trying to pull myself up onto the log. Nope. One arm on the bamboo rail, the other on the log covered in mud: I'm hanging there. Contemplating how I might get out of this mettle. Mr John jumps into the water, it's not that deep, at least where he is. He makes his way over, I jump to him, sort of swimming, trying to keep my non-waterproof pack from becoming totally submerged. This IS the first day of a 3-day trek afterall… I make my way over; grab his shoulders, keeping my pack mostly above water. I feel a bit silly, realising I’m actually a very good swimmer, and Mr John is not much bigger than me. But he helps me over to the bank.
J's turn to cross the river. Debates for awhile. Stands up, and goes. I hold my breath. Seems he took lessons in Asian Balancing Skills. Or perhaps it was the Sangthaew training? Makes it across without incident. Reminds me to take the battery out of my camera. I put it in my upper shirt pocket, the only part of me not soaked, tho the pocket doesn't seal.
We laugh. Hey, I needed to wash off some mud right? All part of the Adventure. One more story for the email! Camera? Won't think about that. I'm very good with Denial. Walk another half hour. SPLAT! Camera and battery go flying out of my pocket. Retrieved the camera (tho now it's not only wet but mud covered). Battery lost. The plastic bag over me? Now completely covered in mud. More a hindrance than a help, as I discover 10 mins later.
J and Mr John help me up. Even the muscles in my feet are aching from balancing, or lack thereof. 10 mins. SPLAT! "Ok, ya know, I think I'm all set with this Adventure stuff. Maybe we could do with a little less of it now?" Get myself up, Mr John orders me to sit down so we can try to get the mud off my boots so there's more tread available. Sit. OUCH!!!! I've sat in a bush of stickers. Try to move, Mr John doesn't quite understand, ignores me, we all go to work on the boots. I ignore the stickers now implanted in my bottom. J's sandals are in a little better shape. This is when we realise that Mr John has on cleats - studs far enough apart that the mud slides thru. Wise man. We do what we can. Get up. Mr John insists I dump the mud covered trash bag 'rain gear' (it's no longer raining). Ms-Environmentalist-I-can't-litter protests. Well, supposedly there's a work crew that comes thru regularly to pick up such things....or so J convinces me. He's right. I can balance better. Mr John also insists on carrying my pack. I protest, feeling guilty. Hey, I hiked the Grand Canyon with a full pack. Twice! I can do this! He says it's flat now so it's no problem. Well, I *am* carrying a couple of his water bottles (he's carrying the food) as I had more space. Ok. World of difference.
Step. Mud. Step. Slide. Step. Mud. Step Slide. Mud Mud Mud. TTTs long out of sight - behind us. 9:00pm. Out of nowhere we see the sign, the entrance to the camp. It's not pretty, but we count our lucky stars we made it in one piece. Only 3.5 hrs. Mr John checks us in. In his broken Thai and a bit of English, (Burmese is his first language) he tells the story of my fall into the river to the guards at the desk. They crack up laughing. It's always nice to know I can amuse people, even in 3 different languages.
It's wall to wall tents, but that's ok. Mr John gets lost, but eventually we find our tent - luckily on the end of the line, by the river, so not too bad. Shows us the river path for bathing. ACK! - Steep, muddy, dark. My shaky unstable feet are not liking that. No, let's try the toilets. There are supposed to be wash basins (big tubs of water, with a bucket to pour over yourself). The basins are empty, taps dry, the floors are covered in 2ft of muck. Ok, let's try the river afterall. So 100 people bathed in it before us. All part of the Adventure. Somehow we manage to get down without falling, find a spot where it's flowing reasonably fast, and submerge ourselves (my camera is now in my pack, in the tent).
Ahhhhhh. A dirty mucky river never felt so good. "Good thing I brought the change of clothes" I say!
Jason: "Um....I only have these trousers."
Oops.
Sorry.
Do what we can to remove the bulk of the mud. Recognise that there are degrees of muddiness. We've now moved from 10 to about 5 on a 1-10 Scale of Mud, 10 being Muddiest. Funny how priorities change. Dry as much as we can with one towel between us, put our wet clothes on the tree, and Mr John calls us for dinner. Rice never tasted so good. J & I debate how many times I actually fell. I think 5, he says 3. Felt like 20. Where is Kung when you need him? He'd know. He always seems to keep track of my number of gin tonics just fine.
50 of the TTT stumble in >2 hours later, after 11 pm. Our 3.5hr trek was nearly 6 hours for them. We heard one girl was missing. Never heard the follow-up.
Back to the tent.
The First Day.
There are 2 more days to this Adventure, but this is already too long. The rest will have to wait for part II.
Preview
Supporting cast:
The Dutch Couple
The Danish Boys
Guide Otto (The Hindu Thai/Burmese with the German name)
Village Chief
Waterfalls, more bamboo bridges (17 in total), Karen Village, dinner at the chief's house, missing elephants, more mud. 4+ more hours on a Sangthaew. A delay at the immigration checkpoint. And apple pie with ice cream at Bai Fern.
And a promise to deck the first person to say "All part of the Adventure."
Umphang II: Bamboo Bridges and Waterfalls
J and I had an agreement that the first person to say "All part of the adventure" was going to get decked. A little less adventure, please.
Mr John's 7am breakfast call, and misty drizzly skies. Uh-oh. Not more rain. Our clothes are still wet. My boots still soaked but less mud (My fabulous waterproof boots were in the US, it is the dry season after all!). We ache in every muscle in our bodies. Even my hand is sore from the death grip I had on the bamboo stick. J & I decide we REALLY don't want another Day of Mud. Let's see the waterfall and then tell Mr John we want to cut this trek short and head back.
We tell Mr John our plan. He doesn't quite understand. We clarify "We can't handle more of yesterday!" He says "No problem. Today no mud! No rain." We look at the cool drizzly sky. Hrmmph. We consider our options:
1) Hike back the same way we came with the 500 TTT. Even if it the sun comes out, it's still going to be muddy.
2) Take the trail to the Karen Village, stay overnight, and take the elephants out by a different trail the next morning.
Mr John says trail is much better, "no mud. No TTT. Only farangs go to village. TTT not interested in the Karen village, only go to waterfall." (There's a certain amount of prejudice about the hill tribes.) So, only us, and we learn later, 4 other farangs.
Hmmm. Maybe he's right. The thought of getting anywhere near the mudpit road is too much to bear. Only option is number 2. Deep breath. Yes, it won't be so bad. Easy hike Mr John keeps saying.
First, to the Waterfall
Thii Lor Su – 1.5 km trek from camp, up a little trail. Good trail, but thanks to the rain the night before and the TTT, it's already muddy and difficult. It's cold and I have on my fleece (realise this is A Bad Idea: getting mud out of fleece...not so easy). A few close calls. Slip, slide, but more things to grab onto and we can see more clearly. Phew! Of course, we're walking up with the other 500 TTT and Mr John is trying to pass everyone. After the 3rd slip, slide, “grab that branch! Ouch!!! THORNS!" I decide I'm going SLOW. It's not like I'll lose the way. I _REALLY_ don't want to fall today.
Few more steps. Ack! No, not me, but the TTT in front of me falls, nearly knocking me over too. I brace myself. I'd rather avoid a role in the domino effect. Everyman for himself...
We make it – amazing spectacular waterfall. Loses a bit with 500 TTT jockeying round to take multiple group photos, but we did pick the busiest holiday weekend of the year (SMRU works on holidays, J is on permanent holiday, so easy to forget). Mr John knows the better trails, takes us up to a couple of spots higher up the falls. So far so good.
He starts to go across a pool, stepping on small rocks. It's rushing water. To the rocks below. Perhaps I'm getting more cautious in my old age? That youthful fearlessness has finally given way to self-preservation. I look at it, feel my aching, still incredibly unstable feet. You know the feeling after you've been skiing all day? or skating? or surfing? Your legs and feet still feel like they're not on solid ground? That was me. Every step was still wobbly.
"Ummm. Maybe not." Shout across the thunder of the waterfall to Mr John that it's no go. He remembers last night, smiles, nods. Takes us on a hidden trail to another pool, perfect. Seems like we're the only ones there. Ignore the little point that if we turn 'round and look down, we see 250 TTT (other 250 are somewhere higher up and out of view), but looking forward, is spectacular (that's the photo). And the thunder of the falls blocks out the noise of other humans.
Clean more of the mud still left over from the night before. Ah! Heaven! But TTT are beginning to scope out our secret path, so we head back. Mr John wants to take us to see more of the Falls, nah. It's stunning, but I'm pushing my luck.
Good time to hike back, all the TTT are at the falls, so trail is empty. No domino worries. Slide, Slip, ACK! Bamboo stick saves me again. Slide slip, ACK! Bamboo stick breaks in half, but still saves me. J gives me his. Made it 1.5km and back without falling!
Sun is out! Woohoo! Not a cloud in the sky. Mr John was right! No rain today!
Hang our clothes to dry, ponder the fate of my camera as I try to dry it out in the sun. Lunch. TTT start returning. Good incentive to move on (500 people kind of have an effect on that whole nature experience).
Sun does wonders to restore our moods (yes, I AM a California girl afterall).
First 50 m are on the dreaded MUD road. Take a deep breath. "Ahhh, ok, feet you can do this." Turn off onto a trail. Little bit muddy, but because 1) it's a real trail and not a road, 2) no TTT have gone before us that day, and 3) it's drying out, it's tolerable. J finds me another walking stick (last one taken by the clean up crew; along with the plastic bags we saved for our wet clothes). Mr John _was_ right. It's a beautiful jungle trail. Enough sun poking thru to warm us, but not so bright so it's not hot.
"Yes. This was a good decision." This is what the trek was supposed to be like!
Hike 30mins. Mr John starts saying something about "monkeys." Thought he was saying we'd see monkeys (we never saw any). Come to a 'bridge.' Ahhh, he said "We must BE like monkeys." Bridge is made of 3 bamboo logs. To get *to* the bridge, one must climb up into the tree that's supporting it. There's bamboo railing. Yeah, fat lot of good that did me last time.
Ummmmmmm. Surely there's another way? Mr John says "Watch me. Step only on 1&2." He of course goes in a flash. Says he'll take my pack for me. No arguments from me this time. He starts doing something on the other end while J and I consider our options. Throw a stone into the river to gauge it's depth, looks pretty deep, can't wade across. Not that this is an option, the river bank is about 3m (~10ft) from the river, steep and muddy on both sides; no way down. So I think "Hey, 3 meters! I used to dive from that all the time. The water's deep and not moving too fast. Mr John has my pack, so if I fall, oh well." Ok. Not quite. More like "I really DON'T want to fall, but I won't lose any expensive electronic equipment if I do."
I think about taking a picture of the 'bridge', remember my camera is non-functioning; J's is packed away. And there's no way I'd take a pic of him crossing, as that requires me to carry his camera across the bridge, and I have this track record with cameras…... We realise Mr John has been working at stablising the other end of the bamboo railing. Oh, good ole Mr John! I'm sure he's thinking "if this bloody woman falls again, I'm not going into the river!" He comes back to get my pack, shuffles across again.
Ok. Deep breath. I'm standing there trying to work up my courage to go for it. J decides to go first. Slowly, step over step. He makes it! Phew!!!
My turn. I have sandals on, much better than boots. They tell me where the weak spots are. Fearlessness? Hah! Sheer terror. Remember if I fall, it's only water (I'm pretty good at doing belly flops when necessary). Deep Breath. Again. "You can do it Cherise!" wasn't working very well to encourage me. Climb up the tree. Onto the bridge. Step. Step. Feel the railing, "ok. Pretty taut, but don't lean!" And yes, I was talking to myself OUT LOUD the entire time. In what seemed like hours but was probably 2 mins, I reached the other end, the weakest point, and jumped to the dirt, with both J and Mr John grabbing hold of me. I made it across! I didn't fall! Mr John has a huge smile on his face. Relief I guess. Or maybe pride. Feel like a helpless woman, but at this point, ego and pride were not issues.
I ask "Do we have any more of these?"
Mr John: "Oh, none like this, rest are easy."
Hike some more. Come to the next one. Ok, so it's not as bad as the first, but it's not like it's much better! Shorter, just as high, over mud. Saving grace – if I can get halfway across I can jump the rest. Yes, we both make it. ... Then another. And another. Some worse than others. Even the ones 1 ft off the ground with very wide logs scare me. Otto, the guide in the second group, said there were 19 in total. I didn't count, just know there were far too many! J tells me later I looked like I'd gained confidence and just took to them without hesitation. Clearly my shaking knees and deep breaths as we approached each one were not so obvious.
The day's oft repeated refrain: "I’m so glad we have elephants tomorrow! I'm knackered!"
We finally cross one big bridge – a real one, made for cars (tho where they'd go I don't know, as the road wasn't a road on either side), into some fields, and we're at the village. Hooray! A whole 3 hr hike and NO FALLING! I spot the AMI Malaria clinic, wonder if it's still active...I can chat with the AMI folks, make myself feel like this is actually a working trip (it's closed, AMI ran out of money).
Mr John leads us to the nicest house, introduces us to the man there – about 35 yrs old, lying very casually, wearing a longyi (male sarong) and flashing the tattoo across his rather impressive bare chest. He's the village chief, which is no doubt why he was lying there whilst the rest of the villagers were out working. He doesn't seem terribly interested in us.
Chief also has bad news "Maybe no elephants." Maybe? He's radioed the other village to bring them, not sure they have any today. Ok. Let's be hopeful. Always the optimist.
Mr John has been regaling us with tales of the waterfall at the village – some spots fed by hot springs, so one can actually take a hot shower! Of sorts. So, we head off to the waterfall. On the way he shows us the rice milling – each house has one. A woman stands on one end and pushes the lever down with her foot into the rice, another woman takes it and clears out the 'shelled' rice. Every day. Pigs running about, chickens and ducks. The way to have fresh meat in a place with no electricity: keep it alive til you want to eat it. The chiles are drying up on platforms, to keep them away from the animals.
The village is quite beautiful. I was worried about going – fearful it'd be a bit Disney-fied for tourists, with the villagers all decked out in their ceremonial clothes for a show (like the Masai at the Mara in Kenya). Not the case at all, they were going about their daily lives, welcoming and friendly, but otherwise going about their business. Dressed as they normally would, which is still very colourful, and the occasional football (soccer) jersey. (My red England T-shirt drew smiles – even without electricity, the villagers still knew Michael Owen and David Beckham.)
Come to a river crossing. No bridge this time but a bamboo raft, tied on one end to a rope over the river. Mr John very insistent "No Stand!" Not like I was going to! Squat, yes, I can do this position well now. The villagers in the house on the other side laugh at us as we come across, then invite us to join them for food. We thank and decline. The recent rains mean 1) falls flowing too fast to cross and 2) far too muddy. Ok, no shower. Water ok to at least wash off some more mud. Enjoy the peace there for a bit, til the bugs start biting.
Head back. Wait for the bamboo raft, do our stylish squatting manuever as the villagers laugh at us. We laugh with them, make it across w/o incident. Two of them get on. The man in the back does a squatting manuever and laughs hysterically, as does everyone else. He lights up his cheroot cigar as he floats across. The woman stands casually in the middle. They get to the log where we very awkwardly climbed off the raft. I think "Look at her, she'll just step off so gracefully. Why can't I do that?" SPLASH! She'd missed the log and slipped into the water. We all got a laugh. It's nice to not be the sole source of amusement for a change.
We head to the village. Someone else must have fallen because we heard another SPLASH! Stop by the village version of AM-PM. No refrigeration (no electricity in the village), but plenty of snacks and water and warm beer brought in by elephant. Meet the Danish Boys and the Dutch Couple who have just arrived with their guide, Otto.
Back to the chief's house. I don't recognise him with the shirt and shorts he's now put on, and he's quite jovial. Maybe we'd interrupted his nap earlier? The kids in the village all cluster around to check out the foreigners. This village is frequented by trekkers from Umphang, so such faces are a common enough occurrence, but kids being kids, were quite intrigued. I try to use what few Karen words I know to communicate. They laugh. We laugh. We all make friends.
Otto, Mr John, and Chit, the cook, put together a scrumptious meal, best I've had so far. Sit down on the straw mats in the chief's house to eat by candlelight. Learn about the Danish Boys' first 2 months of their year-long planned trip (Vietnam and Cambodia so far). Dutch couple talks about their plans to quit their jobs and start a diving school somewhere in the tropics. I've suddenly become a "malaria expert" so of course get asked a bazillion questions. They're the same ones J had asked me before arriving in Mae Sot, so I'd already found out the answers and could appear like I had a clue.
Kids still all watching us from the deck. Amused. I guess we're the ones on display afterall. Fair enough. Otto serves us "Happy water" (some sort of rice liquor; I decline more than one. Really). Otto is the jokester. In many languages. Fluent in English, Thai, Burmese, and Karen, was spouting off Dutch and Danish words recently acquired, threw in some Spanish here and there. Chief makes jokes and Otto translates. Everyone laughs. Mr John, the more fatherly figure, tells us stories and works hard on his English (which is already pretty good).
The one Karen word I know "Tableu!" (thank you) seems to appeal. Otto and the chief tell us to say "Tableu Aha Aha Aha!" which they claim means "thank you very much." I am not convinced about the last bit; they laughed hysterically when we said it. Also "gesu tembare" – Burmese for "Thank you". (Yes, my parents taught me well, the most important words in any language.) TRIED to say "Nagh la gie" ("Good night") but that was responded to with more peels of laughter (Karen can be more guttural than German, so make it sound like you're really gearing up to spit...other words sound almost French. Go figure.)
More radio to the other village. Bad news, no elephants. Well, maybe they’ll come in the morning. Please??? We all keep our hopes up, thanks to my optimism.
Otto tells us, "The Karen people, they get up very early. 4:30 in the morning." AHA! That explains it. The others are incredulous, I know what to expect....(ie no sleep from 4:30-6:30am: Whilst living in the room above the lab, I was awoken daily at 4:30am by our Karen night guard singing and the staff arriving and laughing. I wondered why on earth they got up so early. Now it all makes sense! Seems village life just got transferred to town.)
They show us our guesthouse, one of the nicer houses in the village. It's on stilts, open on one side, with a sort of 'porch' area on 2 sides, and a thatch roof. Ah, home!
Beautiful starlit night. There are some advantages to not having electricity. About now I'm thinking, no cell phones, no laptops, no indoor plumbing, it's not that bad! (indeed, the outdoor toilets were much nicer than many indoor ones in town... yes, whilst travelling, one pays close attention to such things.) Mr John talks about his daughters, his life in Burma and then in the refugee camp, his late wife, his trekking job. I sit fascinated – never want to ask too many questions for fear of causing offence, but curious as can be, desperate to learn all about his experiences.
9:30 we hear singing. About 15 villagers, probably all one extended family as they all went to the same house, are coming back from their farm. The singing really is lovely.
Oh, what a day! Despite the harrowing bridge experiences, what a difference it was to the previous day! Yes, we made the right decision in coming to the village. Not once was uttered "All part of the adventure!" I am quite happy to NOT have an adventure Thankyouverymuch!
Beds are straw mats with mosquito netting. And quite nice except the mozzie nets had enough holes that my little friends were buzzing around inside.
4:30 am. Village party.
Or so it seems. It's still dark. Everyone in the village is up and about getting their day started, singing. Loudly. Ok, then. Right. The singing isn't quite so lovely anymore. Someone apparently has a boom box w/batteries, as we get some other strange music too. One of the Danish Guys is snoring, the rest of us wonder how on earth he's still asleep and listen to his snoring with envy.
6:30am. Silent again.
8am. Otto comes by singing "Good Morning! Breakfast!"
As we're getting ourselves together, I see elephants!!!! Woohoo!!! Our elephants have arrived! We all run over to check them out.
Only there are 2 adults and 2 young ones (we need 3 adult elephants for the 6 of us). Hmmmm. Danish Guy #1 goes to check it out. There's a Danish family staying at the other end of the village. They get the elephants. Bummer. Start to dread the 3 hr hike – up the mountain then down again – to Malemu Junction where a truck will pick us up.
b'fast: Omelettes!!!! And coffee! Assuages the disappointment of no elephants. A little. It's also sunny. No rain!!! Ok, can't complain.
All 6 of us gear ourselves up for the trek. Maybe no mud? Ummmm....
Trail is the elephant trail. And elephants HAVE gone thru in the past day. Hiking on an elephant trail is NOT A Good Thing. Elephant trails = ditches. Giant potholes. Elephants + rain= Mud worse than a 4WD creates. Even tho it hadn't rained in 36 hours, all that meant was less mud than the first night. Degrees of muddiness: If the first night was a 10, this is a 6. And of course there are elephant droppings (which, if you’ve never seen them, are in proportion to the size of the animal).
Chit, the cook, and Mr John cut bamboo walking sticks for all of us. Back to gingerly walking up and down. Every step a cautious one. The Dutch couple walk behind Otto, making him slow the pace. I'm grateful to the rather tall Dutch man in front of me – too many rock crossings where one has to stretch one's legs or step in knee deep mud. I have the short legs. He very kindly notices that I might need some help, many times.
Make it to a place where the trail is a gash in a rock, worn smooth by water, that you have to jump down into. It's narrow enough to hold onto both sides, but rather deep. Again, the short factor comes in. Jump down but can't quite reach. It's a crevasse, so no place for 2 flat feet at a time... I'm hanging there for a second, trying to decide how next to jump so I *don't* twist my ankle. Dutch man comes to the rescue – I use him for an extension and jump to more solid ground. Lament my short legs.
More mud. My legs are a nice shade of mud, but that's just from it splashing up. By now, we don't even think twice about it. That's the bad part – path is easier so we're less cautious. Well, THEY were less cautious. I learned my lesson. Somehow Danish Guy # 1 has gotten up top with Otto, speed hiking again. Hits a slippery spot, SPLAT! Down on the ground. The ground which is on a slope and full of rocks. Blood gushes out of his elbow and knee. Otto does some first aid, we all take a break. Danish Guy # 1 is ok, just sore. Nothing broken.
Plunge along. By now we're pretty much well-decked out in mud – from the trees, from the spots where we need to put our hands on the ground to steady ourselves, from the puddles. But one good thing about this mud – it's "Dry", as dry as much can be. Funny how priorities change. We now have "good mud" and "bad mud." Degree of muddiness – maybe 7. But it's not 10!
3hrs...See some elephants, glare with envy (tho it turns out, the basket on one of the young ones fell off, and the girl riding in it was hurt. So we decide it was good karma afterall that we didn't have those elephants). Make it to the river. Another bamboo raft. J&I are old hands at this! Only the river is running faster, and to keep the raft moving, someone needs to paddle. Ok... I can barely balance. You want me to paddle? Fortunately, I get the middle spot, do my Squat River Crossing Technique, and Danish Guy #2 takes the paddling spot. Phew. We make it across. Getting off the raft is not so easy. No nice log to jump onto. Rather steep dropoff underwater with lots of reeds. Sandy bank, but due to the reeds/debris we can only get so close. Must jump. Arrrgh. Lament my short legs once again. I jump.
I make it. Barely, have to quickly run up the bank so I don't slide back in. Danish guy does the same, but the long legs help him. Otto goes back across, pick up 2 more. Jason gets to paddle this time. He has developed expert bamboo raft crossing skills, makes it look easy. Back across, pick up the last ones. Woohoo! We ALL made it! This is Malemu Junction, there's a car to pick us up and take us back to Umphang. Trek is over!
But the Adventure is not.
It's a Hi-lux truck. 6 of us pile in back with the bags. J's not feeeling well so we tell him to ride in the cab with the others. Mistake he says. He could SEE the driver narrowly miss that oncoming truck as we careen around the curve, those of us in back merely noticed a big swerve. Ah, ignorance is bliss. My stomach isn't doing too well on these winding mountain roads. Uh-oh. Remember we have a 4-6 hr Sangthaew ride back to Mae Sot.
Manage to make it back to Umphang Hill Resort in one piece. They give us lunch. And refund for the lack of elephants (which we then passed on to Mr John, in thanks for getting me out of the river). Arrange a Sangthaew "just for us." We go to gather the things we left "securely" in the office. They try to give us things in the safe not ours..."No No, I really just want MY wallet, no one else's." The other 4 get their stuff. J and I still looking for the plastic bag we left with my rain jacket, a Lonely Planet Thailand, some spare hiking socks, J's Thai phrase book, and another novel. Look Look Look. Nowhere. Look some more. About 45 mins of looking convinces me it's gone. For some reason I decide I'm not leaving empty handed, probably because Khun Police Chief who runs the place was being obnoxious; also trying to tell me the guy who kept our stuff "secure" had put it somewhere else, he didn't know where, the guy wasn't reachable as he was off on a trek, but would "send it to Mae Sot by bus tomorrow." Right! And I have some coastal property in Nevada to sell….. At least be honest and don't insult our intelligence. Besides, it was him who insisted I leave the rain jacket there. Do quick calculation in my head re:cost of books and rain jacket.
Very politely say "Khun Sombat, You insisted your place was secure and it was safe to leave things here. I'm afraid I can't leave here empty handed. The items total about 4000 bhat (~US$85)." Expecting a little negotiating and willing to settle for 2500-3000Bhat. Without a blink he opens his drawer and hands me 4000bhat. Oh, ok. That was a little too easy. Keeps telling me they'll arrive tomorrow. I say great! Send them along and I will send back the money. I want my jacket and good hiking socks more than the money. Now I'm out a rain jacket. And a guidebook. Oh well.
Pile into the Sangthaew. Just us 6. That lasts all of 10 mins. Stop. Pick up people. Thought the deal with the trekking company was No Stops??? (this means the 4.5 hr journey gets longer, the Danish guys have to make it back in time for the bus to BKK). Drive. Stop. Pick up more people. Drop people off. Twisting winding roads. Pick up more people. Try every position possible to ease my stomach. My bandana comes in handy as a sort of hook for my head, the Sangthaew Torture Chamber.
Couple of hours. Pass a refugee camp. Hit an immigration check. There are 3 Karen teens in the sangthaew with us. Two dressed rather hoodlum like, the other in his nicest shirt and slacks. Looking very student-y. Immigration officials look at everyone. Senior official comes over. Decides to ask one hoodlum looking teen for ID (Thai ID card, which everyone is supposed to carry). The rest of us hold our breath, as we figure the kid's illegal, and I know of more than one person who's been caught with fake ID cards. Officer checks it out thoroughly, walks around some more. Talks with his colleagues. Debates. Hands it back. We drive on. All breathe a collective sigh of relief, just that there was no hassle. Student-y looking kid breaks out his biggest smile, he has the biggest sigh of relief. Turns out he's the illegal one. Good ruse! His English is quite good, so he fills us in on all the details. He's from the refugee camp we just passed. Techincally he's not illegal as he had a pass to go to Dr Cynthia's refugee clinic in Mae Sot, but even with that they would have taken him from the truck and grilled him for a few hours, and there would be no more trucks that night. Ah, Life on the border!
Another hour. I'm telling the others about life in Mae Sot. How we're all thankful to the French mercenary who had a restaurant in town but had a falling out with some townsfolks, threatened some mercenary tactics, then sold his equipment (ovens are a rarity here!) and moved to Phuket. This is why the Bai Fern Restaurant serves pizzas, breads, cakes and pies, the only in Mae Sot. "PIE?????" Danish Guy # 2 says - eyes as big and bright as a kid at Christmas. "Someone told us you can get apple pie and ice cream in Mae Sot. Is that really TRUE?????" I assure him it is. Everyone else perks up at the mention of pie and ice cream, and before we know it Jason's tried out his Thai and asked the driver to drop us at Bai Fern instead of the station. The next 45 mins the others spend discussing the merits of pie and ice cream. I start thinking, "Ok, they *usually* have apple pie, what if they've run out or didn't make it today?" Uh-oh....I can't quite describe the look of anticipation on their faces. The Danish guys had been travelling for 2 months and were getting a little weary of rice and noodles. I pray they have it today! Driver takes us there. I know the waiter well, I walk in as the others were getting their bags down: "Please tell me you have apple pie today?!" He looks at my mud-covered clothes, mud covered pack and mud covered legs, laughs hysterically (I then remember that we're all still at >5 on the muddiness scale).
This story has a good ending – they had apple pie! This is A Very Big Deal. The others get the whole pie, dig in. Then order dinner. Then a second pie and ice cream. We all celebrate our "successful" adventure in Umphang. The boys go off to catch the night bus to Babgkok – still covered in mud. Funny how you don't even notice it after awhile. The Dutch couple and Jason stay at the Bai Fern, I cycle off for my room at SMRU (wishing I'd already moved into my flat...the next day).
It's raining.
Oh yeah. I don't have a rain jacket anymore.
Well, I needed a shower......
Later that night Matthieu, one of my co-workers, upon hearing the story said "Now all you need to top it off is to get malaria!" Gee, thanks. At least I can culture my blood sample. A working trip afterall.
post script: I go to Kung's Bar the next night. He says "So how 'bout Umphang?" Start to tell him the story, he bursts out laughing, "I already heard it all!" Everyone in town has already heard. And neither J nor I had been to the Bar yet.
post script two: Been back 9 days. I met a woman from New Zealand last night. Somehow the topic of Umphang came up. She laughed:"Oh yeah! I heard all about your muddy adventures!"
No doubt in another week's time the story will be that we wrestled crocodiles and got attacked by bandits. At least everyone is laughing.
Mr John's 7am breakfast call, and misty drizzly skies. Uh-oh. Not more rain. Our clothes are still wet. My boots still soaked but less mud (My fabulous waterproof boots were in the US, it is the dry season after all!). We ache in every muscle in our bodies. Even my hand is sore from the death grip I had on the bamboo stick. J & I decide we REALLY don't want another Day of Mud. Let's see the waterfall and then tell Mr John we want to cut this trek short and head back.
We tell Mr John our plan. He doesn't quite understand. We clarify "We can't handle more of yesterday!" He says "No problem. Today no mud! No rain." We look at the cool drizzly sky. Hrmmph. We consider our options:
1) Hike back the same way we came with the 500 TTT. Even if it the sun comes out, it's still going to be muddy.
2) Take the trail to the Karen Village, stay overnight, and take the elephants out by a different trail the next morning.
Mr John says trail is much better, "no mud. No TTT. Only farangs go to village. TTT not interested in the Karen village, only go to waterfall." (There's a certain amount of prejudice about the hill tribes.) So, only us, and we learn later, 4 other farangs.
Hmmm. Maybe he's right. The thought of getting anywhere near the mudpit road is too much to bear. Only option is number 2. Deep breath. Yes, it won't be so bad. Easy hike Mr John keeps saying.
First, to the Waterfall
Thii Lor Su – 1.5 km trek from camp, up a little trail. Good trail, but thanks to the rain the night before and the TTT, it's already muddy and difficult. It's cold and I have on my fleece (realise this is A Bad Idea: getting mud out of fleece...not so easy). A few close calls. Slip, slide, but more things to grab onto and we can see more clearly. Phew! Of course, we're walking up with the other 500 TTT and Mr John is trying to pass everyone. After the 3rd slip, slide, “grab that branch! Ouch!!! THORNS!" I decide I'm going SLOW. It's not like I'll lose the way. I _REALLY_ don't want to fall today.
Few more steps. Ack! No, not me, but the TTT in front of me falls, nearly knocking me over too. I brace myself. I'd rather avoid a role in the domino effect. Everyman for himself...
We make it – amazing spectacular waterfall. Loses a bit with 500 TTT jockeying round to take multiple group photos, but we did pick the busiest holiday weekend of the year (SMRU works on holidays, J is on permanent holiday, so easy to forget). Mr John knows the better trails, takes us up to a couple of spots higher up the falls. So far so good.
He starts to go across a pool, stepping on small rocks. It's rushing water. To the rocks below. Perhaps I'm getting more cautious in my old age? That youthful fearlessness has finally given way to self-preservation. I look at it, feel my aching, still incredibly unstable feet. You know the feeling after you've been skiing all day? or skating? or surfing? Your legs and feet still feel like they're not on solid ground? That was me. Every step was still wobbly.
"Ummm. Maybe not." Shout across the thunder of the waterfall to Mr John that it's no go. He remembers last night, smiles, nods. Takes us on a hidden trail to another pool, perfect. Seems like we're the only ones there. Ignore the little point that if we turn 'round and look down, we see 250 TTT (other 250 are somewhere higher up and out of view), but looking forward, is spectacular (that's the photo). And the thunder of the falls blocks out the noise of other humans.
Clean more of the mud still left over from the night before. Ah! Heaven! But TTT are beginning to scope out our secret path, so we head back. Mr John wants to take us to see more of the Falls, nah. It's stunning, but I'm pushing my luck.
Good time to hike back, all the TTT are at the falls, so trail is empty. No domino worries. Slide, Slip, ACK! Bamboo stick saves me again. Slide slip, ACK! Bamboo stick breaks in half, but still saves me. J gives me his. Made it 1.5km and back without falling!
Sun is out! Woohoo! Not a cloud in the sky. Mr John was right! No rain today!
Hang our clothes to dry, ponder the fate of my camera as I try to dry it out in the sun. Lunch. TTT start returning. Good incentive to move on (500 people kind of have an effect on that whole nature experience).
Sun does wonders to restore our moods (yes, I AM a California girl afterall).
First 50 m are on the dreaded MUD road. Take a deep breath. "Ahhh, ok, feet you can do this." Turn off onto a trail. Little bit muddy, but because 1) it's a real trail and not a road, 2) no TTT have gone before us that day, and 3) it's drying out, it's tolerable. J finds me another walking stick (last one taken by the clean up crew; along with the plastic bags we saved for our wet clothes). Mr John _was_ right. It's a beautiful jungle trail. Enough sun poking thru to warm us, but not so bright so it's not hot.
"Yes. This was a good decision." This is what the trek was supposed to be like!
Hike 30mins. Mr John starts saying something about "monkeys." Thought he was saying we'd see monkeys (we never saw any). Come to a 'bridge.' Ahhh, he said "We must BE like monkeys." Bridge is made of 3 bamboo logs. To get *to* the bridge, one must climb up into the tree that's supporting it. There's bamboo railing. Yeah, fat lot of good that did me last time.
Ummmmmmm. Surely there's another way? Mr John says "Watch me. Step only on 1&2." He of course goes in a flash. Says he'll take my pack for me. No arguments from me this time. He starts doing something on the other end while J and I consider our options. Throw a stone into the river to gauge it's depth, looks pretty deep, can't wade across. Not that this is an option, the river bank is about 3m (~10ft) from the river, steep and muddy on both sides; no way down. So I think "Hey, 3 meters! I used to dive from that all the time. The water's deep and not moving too fast. Mr John has my pack, so if I fall, oh well." Ok. Not quite. More like "I really DON'T want to fall, but I won't lose any expensive electronic equipment if I do."
I think about taking a picture of the 'bridge', remember my camera is non-functioning; J's is packed away. And there's no way I'd take a pic of him crossing, as that requires me to carry his camera across the bridge, and I have this track record with cameras…... We realise Mr John has been working at stablising the other end of the bamboo railing. Oh, good ole Mr John! I'm sure he's thinking "if this bloody woman falls again, I'm not going into the river!" He comes back to get my pack, shuffles across again.
Ok. Deep breath. I'm standing there trying to work up my courage to go for it. J decides to go first. Slowly, step over step. He makes it! Phew!!!
My turn. I have sandals on, much better than boots. They tell me where the weak spots are. Fearlessness? Hah! Sheer terror. Remember if I fall, it's only water (I'm pretty good at doing belly flops when necessary). Deep Breath. Again. "You can do it Cherise!" wasn't working very well to encourage me. Climb up the tree. Onto the bridge. Step. Step. Feel the railing, "ok. Pretty taut, but don't lean!" And yes, I was talking to myself OUT LOUD the entire time. In what seemed like hours but was probably 2 mins, I reached the other end, the weakest point, and jumped to the dirt, with both J and Mr John grabbing hold of me. I made it across! I didn't fall! Mr John has a huge smile on his face. Relief I guess. Or maybe pride. Feel like a helpless woman, but at this point, ego and pride were not issues.
I ask "Do we have any more of these?"
Mr John: "Oh, none like this, rest are easy."
Hike some more. Come to the next one. Ok, so it's not as bad as the first, but it's not like it's much better! Shorter, just as high, over mud. Saving grace – if I can get halfway across I can jump the rest. Yes, we both make it. ... Then another. And another. Some worse than others. Even the ones 1 ft off the ground with very wide logs scare me. Otto, the guide in the second group, said there were 19 in total. I didn't count, just know there were far too many! J tells me later I looked like I'd gained confidence and just took to them without hesitation. Clearly my shaking knees and deep breaths as we approached each one were not so obvious.
The day's oft repeated refrain: "I’m so glad we have elephants tomorrow! I'm knackered!"
We finally cross one big bridge – a real one, made for cars (tho where they'd go I don't know, as the road wasn't a road on either side), into some fields, and we're at the village. Hooray! A whole 3 hr hike and NO FALLING! I spot the AMI Malaria clinic, wonder if it's still active...I can chat with the AMI folks, make myself feel like this is actually a working trip (it's closed, AMI ran out of money).
Mr John leads us to the nicest house, introduces us to the man there – about 35 yrs old, lying very casually, wearing a longyi (male sarong) and flashing the tattoo across his rather impressive bare chest. He's the village chief, which is no doubt why he was lying there whilst the rest of the villagers were out working. He doesn't seem terribly interested in us.
Chief also has bad news "Maybe no elephants." Maybe? He's radioed the other village to bring them, not sure they have any today. Ok. Let's be hopeful. Always the optimist.
Mr John has been regaling us with tales of the waterfall at the village – some spots fed by hot springs, so one can actually take a hot shower! Of sorts. So, we head off to the waterfall. On the way he shows us the rice milling – each house has one. A woman stands on one end and pushes the lever down with her foot into the rice, another woman takes it and clears out the 'shelled' rice. Every day. Pigs running about, chickens and ducks. The way to have fresh meat in a place with no electricity: keep it alive til you want to eat it. The chiles are drying up on platforms, to keep them away from the animals.
The village is quite beautiful. I was worried about going – fearful it'd be a bit Disney-fied for tourists, with the villagers all decked out in their ceremonial clothes for a show (like the Masai at the Mara in Kenya). Not the case at all, they were going about their daily lives, welcoming and friendly, but otherwise going about their business. Dressed as they normally would, which is still very colourful, and the occasional football (soccer) jersey. (My red England T-shirt drew smiles – even without electricity, the villagers still knew Michael Owen and David Beckham.)
Come to a river crossing. No bridge this time but a bamboo raft, tied on one end to a rope over the river. Mr John very insistent "No Stand!" Not like I was going to! Squat, yes, I can do this position well now. The villagers in the house on the other side laugh at us as we come across, then invite us to join them for food. We thank and decline. The recent rains mean 1) falls flowing too fast to cross and 2) far too muddy. Ok, no shower. Water ok to at least wash off some more mud. Enjoy the peace there for a bit, til the bugs start biting.
Head back. Wait for the bamboo raft, do our stylish squatting manuever as the villagers laugh at us. We laugh with them, make it across w/o incident. Two of them get on. The man in the back does a squatting manuever and laughs hysterically, as does everyone else. He lights up his cheroot cigar as he floats across. The woman stands casually in the middle. They get to the log where we very awkwardly climbed off the raft. I think "Look at her, she'll just step off so gracefully. Why can't I do that?" SPLASH! She'd missed the log and slipped into the water. We all got a laugh. It's nice to not be the sole source of amusement for a change.
We head to the village. Someone else must have fallen because we heard another SPLASH! Stop by the village version of AM-PM. No refrigeration (no electricity in the village), but plenty of snacks and water and warm beer brought in by elephant. Meet the Danish Boys and the Dutch Couple who have just arrived with their guide, Otto.
Back to the chief's house. I don't recognise him with the shirt and shorts he's now put on, and he's quite jovial. Maybe we'd interrupted his nap earlier? The kids in the village all cluster around to check out the foreigners. This village is frequented by trekkers from Umphang, so such faces are a common enough occurrence, but kids being kids, were quite intrigued. I try to use what few Karen words I know to communicate. They laugh. We laugh. We all make friends.
Otto, Mr John, and Chit, the cook, put together a scrumptious meal, best I've had so far. Sit down on the straw mats in the chief's house to eat by candlelight. Learn about the Danish Boys' first 2 months of their year-long planned trip (Vietnam and Cambodia so far). Dutch couple talks about their plans to quit their jobs and start a diving school somewhere in the tropics. I've suddenly become a "malaria expert" so of course get asked a bazillion questions. They're the same ones J had asked me before arriving in Mae Sot, so I'd already found out the answers and could appear like I had a clue.
Kids still all watching us from the deck. Amused. I guess we're the ones on display afterall. Fair enough. Otto serves us "Happy water" (some sort of rice liquor; I decline more than one. Really). Otto is the jokester. In many languages. Fluent in English, Thai, Burmese, and Karen, was spouting off Dutch and Danish words recently acquired, threw in some Spanish here and there. Chief makes jokes and Otto translates. Everyone laughs. Mr John, the more fatherly figure, tells us stories and works hard on his English (which is already pretty good).
The one Karen word I know "Tableu!" (thank you) seems to appeal. Otto and the chief tell us to say "Tableu Aha Aha Aha!" which they claim means "thank you very much." I am not convinced about the last bit; they laughed hysterically when we said it. Also "gesu tembare" – Burmese for "Thank you". (Yes, my parents taught me well, the most important words in any language.) TRIED to say "Nagh la gie" ("Good night") but that was responded to with more peels of laughter (Karen can be more guttural than German, so make it sound like you're really gearing up to spit...other words sound almost French. Go figure.)
More radio to the other village. Bad news, no elephants. Well, maybe they’ll come in the morning. Please??? We all keep our hopes up, thanks to my optimism.
Otto tells us, "The Karen people, they get up very early. 4:30 in the morning." AHA! That explains it. The others are incredulous, I know what to expect....(ie no sleep from 4:30-6:30am: Whilst living in the room above the lab, I was awoken daily at 4:30am by our Karen night guard singing and the staff arriving and laughing. I wondered why on earth they got up so early. Now it all makes sense! Seems village life just got transferred to town.)
They show us our guesthouse, one of the nicer houses in the village. It's on stilts, open on one side, with a sort of 'porch' area on 2 sides, and a thatch roof. Ah, home!
Beautiful starlit night. There are some advantages to not having electricity. About now I'm thinking, no cell phones, no laptops, no indoor plumbing, it's not that bad! (indeed, the outdoor toilets were much nicer than many indoor ones in town... yes, whilst travelling, one pays close attention to such things.) Mr John talks about his daughters, his life in Burma and then in the refugee camp, his late wife, his trekking job. I sit fascinated – never want to ask too many questions for fear of causing offence, but curious as can be, desperate to learn all about his experiences.
9:30 we hear singing. About 15 villagers, probably all one extended family as they all went to the same house, are coming back from their farm. The singing really is lovely.
Oh, what a day! Despite the harrowing bridge experiences, what a difference it was to the previous day! Yes, we made the right decision in coming to the village. Not once was uttered "All part of the adventure!" I am quite happy to NOT have an adventure Thankyouverymuch!
Beds are straw mats with mosquito netting. And quite nice except the mozzie nets had enough holes that my little friends were buzzing around inside.
4:30 am. Village party.
Or so it seems. It's still dark. Everyone in the village is up and about getting their day started, singing. Loudly. Ok, then. Right. The singing isn't quite so lovely anymore. Someone apparently has a boom box w/batteries, as we get some other strange music too. One of the Danish Guys is snoring, the rest of us wonder how on earth he's still asleep and listen to his snoring with envy.
6:30am. Silent again.
8am. Otto comes by singing "Good Morning! Breakfast!"
As we're getting ourselves together, I see elephants!!!! Woohoo!!! Our elephants have arrived! We all run over to check them out.
Only there are 2 adults and 2 young ones (we need 3 adult elephants for the 6 of us). Hmmmm. Danish Guy #1 goes to check it out. There's a Danish family staying at the other end of the village. They get the elephants. Bummer. Start to dread the 3 hr hike – up the mountain then down again – to Malemu Junction where a truck will pick us up.
b'fast: Omelettes!!!! And coffee! Assuages the disappointment of no elephants. A little. It's also sunny. No rain!!! Ok, can't complain.
All 6 of us gear ourselves up for the trek. Maybe no mud? Ummmm....
Trail is the elephant trail. And elephants HAVE gone thru in the past day. Hiking on an elephant trail is NOT A Good Thing. Elephant trails = ditches. Giant potholes. Elephants + rain= Mud worse than a 4WD creates. Even tho it hadn't rained in 36 hours, all that meant was less mud than the first night. Degrees of muddiness: If the first night was a 10, this is a 6. And of course there are elephant droppings (which, if you’ve never seen them, are in proportion to the size of the animal).
Chit, the cook, and Mr John cut bamboo walking sticks for all of us. Back to gingerly walking up and down. Every step a cautious one. The Dutch couple walk behind Otto, making him slow the pace. I'm grateful to the rather tall Dutch man in front of me – too many rock crossings where one has to stretch one's legs or step in knee deep mud. I have the short legs. He very kindly notices that I might need some help, many times.
Make it to a place where the trail is a gash in a rock, worn smooth by water, that you have to jump down into. It's narrow enough to hold onto both sides, but rather deep. Again, the short factor comes in. Jump down but can't quite reach. It's a crevasse, so no place for 2 flat feet at a time... I'm hanging there for a second, trying to decide how next to jump so I *don't* twist my ankle. Dutch man comes to the rescue – I use him for an extension and jump to more solid ground. Lament my short legs.
More mud. My legs are a nice shade of mud, but that's just from it splashing up. By now, we don't even think twice about it. That's the bad part – path is easier so we're less cautious. Well, THEY were less cautious. I learned my lesson. Somehow Danish Guy # 1 has gotten up top with Otto, speed hiking again. Hits a slippery spot, SPLAT! Down on the ground. The ground which is on a slope and full of rocks. Blood gushes out of his elbow and knee. Otto does some first aid, we all take a break. Danish Guy # 1 is ok, just sore. Nothing broken.
Plunge along. By now we're pretty much well-decked out in mud – from the trees, from the spots where we need to put our hands on the ground to steady ourselves, from the puddles. But one good thing about this mud – it's "Dry", as dry as much can be. Funny how priorities change. We now have "good mud" and "bad mud." Degree of muddiness – maybe 7. But it's not 10!
3hrs...See some elephants, glare with envy (tho it turns out, the basket on one of the young ones fell off, and the girl riding in it was hurt. So we decide it was good karma afterall that we didn't have those elephants). Make it to the river. Another bamboo raft. J&I are old hands at this! Only the river is running faster, and to keep the raft moving, someone needs to paddle. Ok... I can barely balance. You want me to paddle? Fortunately, I get the middle spot, do my Squat River Crossing Technique, and Danish Guy #2 takes the paddling spot. Phew. We make it across. Getting off the raft is not so easy. No nice log to jump onto. Rather steep dropoff underwater with lots of reeds. Sandy bank, but due to the reeds/debris we can only get so close. Must jump. Arrrgh. Lament my short legs once again. I jump.
I make it. Barely, have to quickly run up the bank so I don't slide back in. Danish guy does the same, but the long legs help him. Otto goes back across, pick up 2 more. Jason gets to paddle this time. He has developed expert bamboo raft crossing skills, makes it look easy. Back across, pick up the last ones. Woohoo! We ALL made it! This is Malemu Junction, there's a car to pick us up and take us back to Umphang. Trek is over!
But the Adventure is not.
It's a Hi-lux truck. 6 of us pile in back with the bags. J's not feeeling well so we tell him to ride in the cab with the others. Mistake he says. He could SEE the driver narrowly miss that oncoming truck as we careen around the curve, those of us in back merely noticed a big swerve. Ah, ignorance is bliss. My stomach isn't doing too well on these winding mountain roads. Uh-oh. Remember we have a 4-6 hr Sangthaew ride back to Mae Sot.
Manage to make it back to Umphang Hill Resort in one piece. They give us lunch. And refund for the lack of elephants (which we then passed on to Mr John, in thanks for getting me out of the river). Arrange a Sangthaew "just for us." We go to gather the things we left "securely" in the office. They try to give us things in the safe not ours..."No No, I really just want MY wallet, no one else's." The other 4 get their stuff. J and I still looking for the plastic bag we left with my rain jacket, a Lonely Planet Thailand, some spare hiking socks, J's Thai phrase book, and another novel. Look Look Look. Nowhere. Look some more. About 45 mins of looking convinces me it's gone. For some reason I decide I'm not leaving empty handed, probably because Khun Police Chief who runs the place was being obnoxious; also trying to tell me the guy who kept our stuff "secure" had put it somewhere else, he didn't know where, the guy wasn't reachable as he was off on a trek, but would "send it to Mae Sot by bus tomorrow." Right! And I have some coastal property in Nevada to sell….. At least be honest and don't insult our intelligence. Besides, it was him who insisted I leave the rain jacket there. Do quick calculation in my head re:cost of books and rain jacket.
Very politely say "Khun Sombat, You insisted your place was secure and it was safe to leave things here. I'm afraid I can't leave here empty handed. The items total about 4000 bhat (~US$85)." Expecting a little negotiating and willing to settle for 2500-3000Bhat. Without a blink he opens his drawer and hands me 4000bhat. Oh, ok. That was a little too easy. Keeps telling me they'll arrive tomorrow. I say great! Send them along and I will send back the money. I want my jacket and good hiking socks more than the money. Now I'm out a rain jacket. And a guidebook. Oh well.
Pile into the Sangthaew. Just us 6. That lasts all of 10 mins. Stop. Pick up people. Thought the deal with the trekking company was No Stops??? (this means the 4.5 hr journey gets longer, the Danish guys have to make it back in time for the bus to BKK). Drive. Stop. Pick up more people. Drop people off. Twisting winding roads. Pick up more people. Try every position possible to ease my stomach. My bandana comes in handy as a sort of hook for my head, the Sangthaew Torture Chamber.
Couple of hours. Pass a refugee camp. Hit an immigration check. There are 3 Karen teens in the sangthaew with us. Two dressed rather hoodlum like, the other in his nicest shirt and slacks. Looking very student-y. Immigration officials look at everyone. Senior official comes over. Decides to ask one hoodlum looking teen for ID (Thai ID card, which everyone is supposed to carry). The rest of us hold our breath, as we figure the kid's illegal, and I know of more than one person who's been caught with fake ID cards. Officer checks it out thoroughly, walks around some more. Talks with his colleagues. Debates. Hands it back. We drive on. All breathe a collective sigh of relief, just that there was no hassle. Student-y looking kid breaks out his biggest smile, he has the biggest sigh of relief. Turns out he's the illegal one. Good ruse! His English is quite good, so he fills us in on all the details. He's from the refugee camp we just passed. Techincally he's not illegal as he had a pass to go to Dr Cynthia's refugee clinic in Mae Sot, but even with that they would have taken him from the truck and grilled him for a few hours, and there would be no more trucks that night. Ah, Life on the border!
Another hour. I'm telling the others about life in Mae Sot. How we're all thankful to the French mercenary who had a restaurant in town but had a falling out with some townsfolks, threatened some mercenary tactics, then sold his equipment (ovens are a rarity here!) and moved to Phuket. This is why the Bai Fern Restaurant serves pizzas, breads, cakes and pies, the only in Mae Sot. "PIE?????" Danish Guy # 2 says - eyes as big and bright as a kid at Christmas. "Someone told us you can get apple pie and ice cream in Mae Sot. Is that really TRUE?????" I assure him it is. Everyone else perks up at the mention of pie and ice cream, and before we know it Jason's tried out his Thai and asked the driver to drop us at Bai Fern instead of the station. The next 45 mins the others spend discussing the merits of pie and ice cream. I start thinking, "Ok, they *usually* have apple pie, what if they've run out or didn't make it today?" Uh-oh....I can't quite describe the look of anticipation on their faces. The Danish guys had been travelling for 2 months and were getting a little weary of rice and noodles. I pray they have it today! Driver takes us there. I know the waiter well, I walk in as the others were getting their bags down: "Please tell me you have apple pie today?!" He looks at my mud-covered clothes, mud covered pack and mud covered legs, laughs hysterically (I then remember that we're all still at >5 on the muddiness scale).
This story has a good ending – they had apple pie! This is A Very Big Deal. The others get the whole pie, dig in. Then order dinner. Then a second pie and ice cream. We all celebrate our "successful" adventure in Umphang. The boys go off to catch the night bus to Babgkok – still covered in mud. Funny how you don't even notice it after awhile. The Dutch couple and Jason stay at the Bai Fern, I cycle off for my room at SMRU (wishing I'd already moved into my flat...the next day).
It's raining.
Oh yeah. I don't have a rain jacket anymore.
Well, I needed a shower......
Later that night Matthieu, one of my co-workers, upon hearing the story said "Now all you need to top it off is to get malaria!" Gee, thanks. At least I can culture my blood sample. A working trip afterall.
post script: I go to Kung's Bar the next night. He says "So how 'bout Umphang?" Start to tell him the story, he bursts out laughing, "I already heard it all!" Everyone in town has already heard. And neither J nor I had been to the Bar yet.
post script two: Been back 9 days. I met a woman from New Zealand last night. Somehow the topic of Umphang came up. She laughed:"Oh yeah! I heard all about your muddy adventures!"
No doubt in another week's time the story will be that we wrestled crocodiles and got attacked by bandits. At least everyone is laughing.
At the Camp
18 Jan 2003
Mae La. 40,000+ refugees. Like a village. A VERY crowded village. No malaria today, at least not in the inpatient clinic. So I wandered around. Being discreet with my camera, as much as possible. Helps to have a mini-spy camera...
Found a group of kids who saw my camera, intrigued, they all came over. They had to pose. Of course they all got shy when I actually took the picture. But they loved being able to see themselves on the tiny screen afterwards. One day I will get round to buying a Polaroid camera, so I can actually GIVE them the pics (Or maybe carry a printer?).
Then I watched some kids play. They were playing a game with 'guns' made of sticks and rubber bands. A sort of guns/soldiers sort of thing: Ducking round the corners, hiding back, taking cover. The kid in the pic was my favourite (well, apart from the one who didn't have any gun, and just hung out by the clinic. He's in another pic. Biggest smile you’ve ever seen. I think we’re friends now.) THIS little guy, 5 years old maybe? Had feet like wind. The camp is on a steep hillside. The ground is uneven. Watching him run under the houses, taking cover behind a post, dashing behind a wall, negotiating the hilly bits, running barefoot, was more incredible than I have seen in most films. Oh, he was just a cute little kid to be sure (flashing the ever so charming smile), and me, being a kid magnet, couldn’t stop watching them (and they me). I watched them for ages, thinking "Kids! Having a blast!' Kid stuff yeah? Ah, no. Suddenly I felt strange. This was kind of creepy. I was watching a 'training session.' He was just *too good.* I no longer felt like I was watching innocent play. They were different. These weren't your typical suburban kids playing cops and robbers, Cowboys and Indians. That quickly became apparent. He had the look of a jungle fighter, his stance, his moves, running in a way I can't describe that made it so clear, this kid wasn't going to be a just a "soldier", but a true guerilla, a real jungle fighter with the KNLA*, and a high level one at that. If he lives that long....
Where does this 5 year old kid learn this? Yeah, every kid in the world plays with guns. But these aren't kids w/TV and movies. They don’t learn it from Hollywood. Given that half of their fathers are KNLA soldiers, it shouldn't be surprising.
Had drinks last night with my friend's brother, a KNLA general. "Dry Season Fighting on the border" continues as usual. Yeah, I'm safe, we don't even hear the shelling in Mae Sot. And Mae La is safe, after all, it was established because Shoklo was shelled, and security is high.** But it's taken so calmly – as when someone called to say they couldn't make an arranged meeting because "The fighting. I will have to transport some people to help. Will be there tomorrow instead." Calm and peaceful here.
It *is*. But I am reminded daily, that such is only on the surface. It's calm and peaceful for some of us, not for many others. Shelling and gunfire continues daily in the countryside. Far away from us in Mae Sot, but ever so close to others. And it will continue on, until that 5 year old is old enough to join in the fight. It's been going on for 50 years.It's not going to stop now.
*KNLA = Karen National Liberation Army
** That's not entirely true. As the camp houses high level KNU/KNLA people, Mae La has been the focus of occassional attacks. I noticed on the driver's board at SMRU later, in March, a note next to Mae La saying "Call before going for conditions." And it's not referring to weather....
Mae La. 40,000+ refugees. Like a village. A VERY crowded village. No malaria today, at least not in the inpatient clinic. So I wandered around. Being discreet with my camera, as much as possible. Helps to have a mini-spy camera...
Found a group of kids who saw my camera, intrigued, they all came over. They had to pose. Of course they all got shy when I actually took the picture. But they loved being able to see themselves on the tiny screen afterwards. One day I will get round to buying a Polaroid camera, so I can actually GIVE them the pics (Or maybe carry a printer?).
Then I watched some kids play. They were playing a game with 'guns' made of sticks and rubber bands. A sort of guns/soldiers sort of thing: Ducking round the corners, hiding back, taking cover. The kid in the pic was my favourite (well, apart from the one who didn't have any gun, and just hung out by the clinic. He's in another pic. Biggest smile you’ve ever seen. I think we’re friends now.) THIS little guy, 5 years old maybe? Had feet like wind. The camp is on a steep hillside. The ground is uneven. Watching him run under the houses, taking cover behind a post, dashing behind a wall, negotiating the hilly bits, running barefoot, was more incredible than I have seen in most films. Oh, he was just a cute little kid to be sure (flashing the ever so charming smile), and me, being a kid magnet, couldn’t stop watching them (and they me). I watched them for ages, thinking "Kids! Having a blast!' Kid stuff yeah? Ah, no. Suddenly I felt strange. This was kind of creepy. I was watching a 'training session.' He was just *too good.* I no longer felt like I was watching innocent play. They were different. These weren't your typical suburban kids playing cops and robbers, Cowboys and Indians. That quickly became apparent. He had the look of a jungle fighter, his stance, his moves, running in a way I can't describe that made it so clear, this kid wasn't going to be a just a "soldier", but a true guerilla, a real jungle fighter with the KNLA*, and a high level one at that. If he lives that long....
Where does this 5 year old kid learn this? Yeah, every kid in the world plays with guns. But these aren't kids w/TV and movies. They don’t learn it from Hollywood. Given that half of their fathers are KNLA soldiers, it shouldn't be surprising.
Had drinks last night with my friend's brother, a KNLA general. "Dry Season Fighting on the border" continues as usual. Yeah, I'm safe, we don't even hear the shelling in Mae Sot. And Mae La is safe, after all, it was established because Shoklo was shelled, and security is high.** But it's taken so calmly – as when someone called to say they couldn't make an arranged meeting because "The fighting. I will have to transport some people to help. Will be there tomorrow instead." Calm and peaceful here.
It *is*. But I am reminded daily, that such is only on the surface. It's calm and peaceful for some of us, not for many others. Shelling and gunfire continues daily in the countryside. Far away from us in Mae Sot, but ever so close to others. And it will continue on, until that 5 year old is old enough to join in the fight. It's been going on for 50 years.It's not going to stop now.
*KNLA = Karen National Liberation Army
** That's not entirely true. As the camp houses high level KNU/KNLA people, Mae La has been the focus of occassional attacks. I noticed on the driver's board at SMRU later, in March, a note next to Mae La saying "Call before going for conditions." And it's not referring to weather....
Honda Dreams I. Phang-Nga and Krabi Provinces
16 Feb 2003
Dream Adventures: Honda Dreams, Dirt Roads, Faulty Petrol Gauges, and "The Dry Season."
A friend of mine from the US came to visit in February. This is the result.
So far Mom was my motorbike guinea pig, but I'd never gone more than 7km (to the border) on such a machine..... So, after two days of "too much sun" (hint, this California girl wasn't saying that!), R decides I know what I'm doing (crazy man?!), and we decide to hire a motorbike to go tooling off into the wilds on this relatively unexplored province. After the Swedish-Dutch-German tourist mecca of Ao Nang, this was a welcome change. "Real Thailand." Amazingly, it's easier than expected. The push button electric starter on this newer model Honda Dream is excellent. We venture off. We'd intended to see some caves for which the region is renowned. As we were to learn, the combo of caves + moto-CY (let's get into proper Thai accent here) does not prove well for us.
After about 50km, we pass a couple of cave signs, too late, don't feel like turning around. See a sign up ahead, ok venture off for one cave. Follow the winding paved road, then turns to a dirt road. I have ridden a motorbike all of maybe 5 times by now - R., with his mountain biking expertise, guides me with instructions. We find the cave (without crashing!). The entrance has a rather large Buddhist shrine. Ok, we'll hike round. Hike, hike, never see another entrance. It's all interesting though. Mammoth Caves it's not, but still worthwhile. There are many more caves in the area. Let's find them. Wait, we're hungry. Next town just up ahead: Ao Luk. Though on the main highway between heavily touristed Phuket and Krabi, I think this place is not a usual farang stop over. Now we really see "Real Thailand'. Manage to find a roadside stall and somehow communicated what we wanted (sort of - that's the easy thing here, say a few words and you get SOME dish, and there's a 95% chance it'll be good). The locals in the place were clearly saying "What the H- are these farangs doing HERE?!" Off to another cave. Never find it. Off some more. Still can't find them.... English signs saying "Cave ---" turn to Thai signs. I can speak it a bit but I can't read Thai script. Oh well, it's a good ride. Nice temp, clear blue skies, lovely scenery. After some 90km total, starting to the north end of the bay, we turn back. Try for another cave. No luck. Ok, mai ben lai. Make our way back. 25-30 km, doing fine. Hey, I can handle this motorbike thing!
Pass a bunch of petrol "stations" in the various towns, my tank says >1/4, we're doing fine. ("Stations" = booths with bottles of fuel and a hose). Starts to rain. What happened to the DRY SEASON? Ok, this motorbike thing, I haven't planned for slick roads. Whilst *I* may be the most cautious driver on the road, no one seems to care that we're getting inches of rain building up....cars careen all over the place.... fly by us. My only thought: "Sh*t!!!! I don't like this rain!" I could care less about getting wet, just don't like the road. I imagine spinning out on every curve. Ok, not too bad, we're just getting a little wet. It's not pouring yet. R. shouts over the roar of the engine and pounding of the rain "Fuel!" Ack. Look at the gauge. ACK! Suddenly, in less than 2 km, it's gone from 1/4 to E. And it's raining. Uh-Oh. We pass people sitting in bus shelters. Tempting, but what if we can't start again? A few more km, it's pouring. Buckets of rain. We know where one petrol station is (where we filled up on the way out), we can make it that far....or we can push. Really don't want to push. Rain isn't helping. Every once in awhile the rain stops and I think "Phew! That's over!" Only to have it rain again. Realise that even with my helmet visor, my (prescription) glasses are covered so much I'm better off without them. After more than 30km, and plenty of rain, and numerous nerve-wracking turns, with visions of us being splayed across the slick road or having to walk with the bike (obviously, if we had to choose, the latter is preferable), we find our petrol station. YAY! I'm not sure the attendant realised why we were cheering so much just to see him. Still raining, but that's ok, we're almost back. We see some tourists in a sangthaew. Feeling cocky we both say "Hah! Wussy tourists!" We get wetter (more wet? My English is failing me). I go slower (good thing I am no daredevil). Make it back to Ao Nang, where it's dry. The hire place people look at our soaked clothes. Laugh. "Always an adventure with Cherise" R. says. Little does he know...
Dream Adventures: Honda Dreams, Dirt Roads, Faulty Petrol Gauges, and "The Dry Season."
A friend of mine from the US came to visit in February. This is the result.
So far Mom was my motorbike guinea pig, but I'd never gone more than 7km (to the border) on such a machine..... So, after two days of "too much sun" (hint, this California girl wasn't saying that!), R decides I know what I'm doing (crazy man?!), and we decide to hire a motorbike to go tooling off into the wilds on this relatively unexplored province. After the Swedish-Dutch-German tourist mecca of Ao Nang, this was a welcome change. "Real Thailand." Amazingly, it's easier than expected. The push button electric starter on this newer model Honda Dream is excellent. We venture off. We'd intended to see some caves for which the region is renowned. As we were to learn, the combo of caves + moto-CY (let's get into proper Thai accent here) does not prove well for us.
After about 50km, we pass a couple of cave signs, too late, don't feel like turning around. See a sign up ahead, ok venture off for one cave. Follow the winding paved road, then turns to a dirt road. I have ridden a motorbike all of maybe 5 times by now - R., with his mountain biking expertise, guides me with instructions. We find the cave (without crashing!). The entrance has a rather large Buddhist shrine. Ok, we'll hike round. Hike, hike, never see another entrance. It's all interesting though. Mammoth Caves it's not, but still worthwhile. There are many more caves in the area. Let's find them. Wait, we're hungry. Next town just up ahead: Ao Luk. Though on the main highway between heavily touristed Phuket and Krabi, I think this place is not a usual farang stop over. Now we really see "Real Thailand'. Manage to find a roadside stall and somehow communicated what we wanted (sort of - that's the easy thing here, say a few words and you get SOME dish, and there's a 95% chance it'll be good). The locals in the place were clearly saying "What the H- are these farangs doing HERE?!" Off to another cave. Never find it. Off some more. Still can't find them.... English signs saying "Cave ---" turn to Thai signs. I can speak it a bit but I can't read Thai script. Oh well, it's a good ride. Nice temp, clear blue skies, lovely scenery. After some 90km total, starting to the north end of the bay, we turn back. Try for another cave. No luck. Ok, mai ben lai. Make our way back. 25-30 km, doing fine. Hey, I can handle this motorbike thing!
Pass a bunch of petrol "stations" in the various towns, my tank says >1/4, we're doing fine. ("Stations" = booths with bottles of fuel and a hose). Starts to rain. What happened to the DRY SEASON? Ok, this motorbike thing, I haven't planned for slick roads. Whilst *I* may be the most cautious driver on the road, no one seems to care that we're getting inches of rain building up....cars careen all over the place.... fly by us. My only thought: "Sh*t!!!! I don't like this rain!" I could care less about getting wet, just don't like the road. I imagine spinning out on every curve. Ok, not too bad, we're just getting a little wet. It's not pouring yet. R. shouts over the roar of the engine and pounding of the rain "Fuel!" Ack. Look at the gauge. ACK! Suddenly, in less than 2 km, it's gone from 1/4 to E. And it's raining. Uh-Oh. We pass people sitting in bus shelters. Tempting, but what if we can't start again? A few more km, it's pouring. Buckets of rain. We know where one petrol station is (where we filled up on the way out), we can make it that far....or we can push. Really don't want to push. Rain isn't helping. Every once in awhile the rain stops and I think "Phew! That's over!" Only to have it rain again. Realise that even with my helmet visor, my (prescription) glasses are covered so much I'm better off without them. After more than 30km, and plenty of rain, and numerous nerve-wracking turns, with visions of us being splayed across the slick road or having to walk with the bike (obviously, if we had to choose, the latter is preferable), we find our petrol station. YAY! I'm not sure the attendant realised why we were cheering so much just to see him. Still raining, but that's ok, we're almost back. We see some tourists in a sangthaew. Feeling cocky we both say "Hah! Wussy tourists!" We get wetter (more wet? My English is failing me). I go slower (good thing I am no daredevil). Make it back to Ao Nang, where it's dry. The hire place people look at our soaked clothes. Laugh. "Always an adventure with Cherise" R. says. Little does he know...
Honda Dreams II: Mae Salid
Feb 2003
There's a stretch of new paved road that runs along the border north of Mae Sot to Mae Sariang, 228km away. We'd initially hoped to do that over 3 days, with a side trip to Mae Sam Leap (a former black market zone on the river separating Burma from Thailand), but I decided that duty called and I could take no more than 2 days away from work. So we opted to take my Honda Dream (100cc engine) and a hired Dream (for R.) half-way, to Mae Salid or thereabouts, over 2 days. I've been as far as Mae La Refugee Camp before (60km), but not beyond and not on a motorbike.
I confess to having been inspired by Christian Gooden's recent update of Three Pagodas: A Journey Down the Thai-Burmese Border.
My motorbike had been in the shop. Went to pick it up the night before, wasn't even touched. Hrmph. 'TIT" This is Thailand. No problem, it'll be fine they tell me, just carry some oil. Ok. Next morning. It doesn't start. Now, I've always had a problem with the kick start - it's just lame-o me right? Well, wasn't starting... ok. Push it to the shop. On the positive side of TIT: we walked up with the bike, the guys swarmed on it. Service is good here, usually. The old guy muttered something along the lines of "stupid farang" and checked the petrol first (ha! It was full! Pbtthhh!) Ok, so next up. Well, in a matter of minutes, they'd changed the spark plug, charged me 50 baht (US$1.20) and I was good to go. I wondered briefly if "not starting = omen"? Nah. Stupid superstition. Gotta run to work for a little bit, R. goes to pick up his hire bike. Meet at the office. All set. I start. Ah lovely, it wasn't just me! New spark plug = starts beautifully! He starts. Nope. Try again. Nope. Again. Nope. Uh-oh. Maybe this really IS an omen? Not superstitious but...... It starts. Woohoo! We're off.
Whoa! Amazing trip. The views are spectacular: Karstic mountains with varying formations, running along the border: the Moei River ever so majestic, and the villages along the way (mostly Karen) friendly and interesting. I took some pictures, but many of the things we saw could just not be conveyed adequately with pictures: the group of 15 Karen just beyond the camp, from small children to old folks, walking along the road, each carrying a 15ft bamboo log, probably for building their house; the eerie feeling of standing next to the guard "tower" (made of bamboo - in the US one might call the same structure a tree house) on the Thai/KNLA controlled side of the river, looking across to DKBA/SLORC territory in the forbidden mountainous jungle; the mystery of the dense virgin forest.....
The road is mostly paved, apart from a stretch about 5km (seemed like more than 10) somewhere south of Mae Salid, where they are re-doing the road. I don't like riding on the dirt, even though it’s packed. I was very nervous, but managed. Slowly. R. close behind, following my lead. This trip was meant to be another caving trip - to Mae U-Su cave, about 100km north of Mae Sot. We saw the cave turn off, but we were hungry, decided to move on to Mae Salid and we'd hit the cave on the way back.
We got to Mae Salid. Not much there. We're feeling good, my gas gauge says >1/4. Hmmm. I was told about a resort north of Mae Salid about 20km called something like "Pa...". Ok, let's aim for that. Ride a long way....my petrol gauge now looks dangerously close to E. R.'s says >1/4 though, and it's the same bike, so should have the same size gas tank? Memories of Phang-Nga. (I realise NOW, I could have just stopped and looked inside the tank, and if I could SEE petrol, know I was fine. Live and Learn). 20 km. A little worried. See something that says, in English "welcome". Check that out. It's some sort of military station but only two guys are there. The guy there told me the word but I didn't understand it. He says "Pa Pa Valley is 8km. Yes, they have petrol." My broken Thai and his broken English proving useful. And we can use their toilets. OK! Yes! This is what we're looking for!
A few km, see a police hut and some big sign, all in Thai. Nah, that's not it. Ride on.
I'm in the lead, we're going reasonably slow (avg 60kph, depending on how flat, curves, etc). Suddenly, the paved road turns to a small dirt patch. Clearly the road had been washed away in the last rainy season. Slow down quickly. Hit a hole. I am airborne. "Control Cherise. Focus." Yes! I land, balanced. Amazing myself. But the force of the landing makes my water bottle pop out of the basket in the front, I start to pull off to the side and turn around. Somehow I saw split seconds of R. airborne and heard "SKID! CRUNCH!" For the second split second wonder if my pulling off quickly caused it. No, though it happened so fast, the water bottle flying thru the air made him look at just the wrong time: when he was airborne on the same patch, causing an ever so slight turn of the front wheel, an off balance landing, and CRASH. He had the presence of mind to pull his body out, so the bike didn't land on top of him, though it caught his foot. Managed to get the bike upright and him and it out of the way. Check: Broken bones? No. Phew! Feeling ok? OK. Lots of ugly scrapes on the arms and knees, and hands. Ouch. Deep breath. Ok, let's see the bike. The pedal is knocked back so that it's blocking the kick starter. Like an angel from heaven, or....just the sangthaew from Mae Sot to Mae Sariang, a pickup appears. They stop, ask if we're ok, offer ointment for R.'s clearly torn up arm (and legs - the bloody trousers were a giveaway). Then the driver and a passenger get out to check out the bike, use a bamboo pole to hammer the pedal back, and start the bike - yeah! Make sure we're ok. Other passengers say Pa Pa Valley, just 2km.
Fall off a horse, get back on. Fall off a motorbike in the middle of nowhere? Not much choice. Ride on. See the sign for Pa Pa Valley, down a little hill. Deep Breath. Ok. I'm more nervous than R. now, and it wasn't me who crashed! We make it into the gate. Looks deserted. Hrmmm. We ARE in the middle of nowhere. Go in. 2 guys are sitting at a platform up front. We say "Tii nii? Pa Pa Valley ReSORT?" (here? Pa Pa Valley?) "Mai Mii" (no have- huh???) Somehow the information is conveyed, sure, this is the place, and the buildings are still here, but there's no resort anymore. It's closed for good. Ok. Ummm. Okkkkk. "Petrol? Gasoline?" "Mai mii." Ask again, maybe they didn't understand. "Mai mii." Ok, first things first. They get fresh water to clean R.'s wounds. And we'll have to head back. They tell us there's petrol 6km back (we didn't see, but we'll figure it out). R. manages to get back on the bike, yet again.
This whole area, whilst on the Thai side of the border, is mainly peopled by the Karen: Some Thai Karen, many Burmese Karen who've fled across the border. One thing about all this, we learned of the incredible generosity and kindness of the Karen people. Not that I'm surprised, it merely validated what I already knew and had heard about, but it was still a comforting reminder of the goodness of people. Everyone offered help (Though many found the humour in these two crazy farangs).
Rode back 6km to where we saw the police hut. Someone comes out, looks at R., "Moto CY?" heh, yeah. "Gasoline?" I say. He points us in the direction of the village - an odd setting, as 1) it was thru a very well marked entrance zone (not normal) and 2) the existence of a Police Hut essentially manning the entrance/exit, which is why we weren't sure it was even a village the first pass thru. The village is Ban Ta Song Yang. Turns out, this village is down 1km off the road, on the Moei river, and in recent years was a major Black Market port for the Karen State (Kawthoolei) and later a site of major battles between the KNLA and DKBA/SLORC.
We head down. Beautiful place. Interesting mix of traditional houses (stilts, bamboo) and more 'modern' Thai style - concrete + teak, normally associated with wealthy towns. (Wealth in such an isolated area has questionable sources.) Petrol can be had in the usual place - a little open air minimart, with a couple of plastic containers and a drum full of fuel. We refill our tanks. The Karen ladies see R.'s torn up arms and take pity. "Wait a moment" they say (at least I think that's what they said). Thru a series of hand gestures, Thai words and some Karen words, it's clear they're doing something to help. They hand us stools to sit on. Meanwhile people come by to admire the wounds. I figure out one of the ladies has gone to get something. I tell them not to worry, we'll ride back, don't trouble. But they insist. Someone runs to a phone booth across the way, within minutes a lady motors up with some iodine in hand. They give us fresh water, gauze and iodine to clean the wounds. One of the ladies is trying to show me how to apply it, where to put it properly. Despite his wounds, R. is liking the fuss of the ladies. I offer to pay them something for the iodine and gauze. "No" they insist. Yes I insist. No they insist. Ok. I pay for the water bottle, casually leave the 15 baht change (~ US$0.30) on the stool, hoping they are not offended.
So now we're the talk of Mae Sariang (where the people in the sangthaew were heading) and Ban Ta Song Yang. Stupid Farangs. We ride off the 15 km back to Mae Salid.
Find the Mae Salid Guesthouse. It's right next to a school and the school is just letting out, which means lines of kids walking past (they are so orderly!). So we wait. Now, not only are we two farangs in a place few farangs visit these days, but we're on motorbikes, and one is clearly full of banged up knees and arms. And the other is a GIRL! We provide yet another spectacle....and a source of humour.
Saw Pi from the Guesthouse must have been told by one of the students that we were there, because he comes down and asks if we need a place to stay. Yes, we say. This is easy. He shows us up. Mae Salid Guesthouse ranks among the lowest of the places I've ever stayed, and I've stayed in some lousy places. It clearly has seen better days. Saw Pi makes up for it. And hey, it has a "shower." The slats for beds and communal bathroom are fine, as, no one else is there (and only about 5 visitors have stayed in 2003). Still, for 160Baht for two of us (~$3.50) it's overpriced. But Saw Pi - I'd easily pay him 200 baht for the entertainment and stories. Luckily, the water comes ON at 4pm and it's 4pm now. So R., very painfully, is able to wash out his wounds more thoroughly in the 'shower' (which is actually a hose). Saw Pi, seeing his wounds, has already seen the motorbike and figured it all out, along with everyone else in Mae Salid. He kindly offers us his alcohol (of the rubbing sort, not to drink) and gauze, and shows us where to get more and some bandages. In our confusion, it takes a little while to find the shop, but no worries, that only means that yet more people in the village have seen us and offer help..... someone walks us over to the shop (about to close, looks more like a garage anyway). The lady loads us up with more gauze, alcohol, mercurotome, and bandages. I try to pay with a 500 baht note (~US$12), she laughs and says "30 baht" (~ 75 cents). I'm still amazed at how cheap things are here!
Back to the guesthouse. Saw Pi serves us dinner, hang out on the veranda, tells us stories of Burma (where he's from), the Karen, Mannerplaw (where the old KNU HQ used to be before it fell in 95), what Mae Salid was like, and oddly enough, about my "old friend" Sombat. That's Police Capt Sombat, of Umphang Hill Resort (aka Mud Trek "no rain!" ie JERK!) Turns out Sombat is quite the man in these parts. Controls much of Tak and Mae Hong Son Provinces. Saw Pi brings out a scrap book of pictures. Whoa! I immediately recognise Sombat with KNLA Head Bo Mya (whose birthday celebration I attended) and other senior KNU men. Worlds collide! This is waaaaay too weird! He's apparently also a big man in Mae Sot. Not just from what he owns, but he's Thai military (police; same thing) and has significant influence along the border. This explains everything! Eventually Saw Pi drags out his guitar, and he and R. start singing Dire Straits songs.
The First Day. Always an adventure with Cherise!
Who wants to come to visit next? ;)
Follow up: yeah, we made it back safely, Skipped Mae U-su cave, too wiped out to stop. R. + Cherise + motorbikes does NOT = caving. In our intent to see many caves on these motorbike journeys, we saw one, and not much more than the entrance at that. By this point, just wanted to get home. And somehow we made it back in one piece, leaving behind only bits of R.'s arms and knees and palms. After the isolation of the roads, Mae Sot might as well have been Bangkok for its traffic.
And hey, there's always a story to tell!
Glossary:
KNU = Karen National Union
KNLA = Karen National Liberation Army
DKBA = Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (splinter from KNLA, joined with SLORC, but rumour has it....well, it's complicated)
SLORC = State Law and Order Restoration Committee (offshoot of "SPDC" = State Peace and Development Council) aka Burmese military junta forces
Farang = white, foreigner (or literally 'gauva')
There's a stretch of new paved road that runs along the border north of Mae Sot to Mae Sariang, 228km away. We'd initially hoped to do that over 3 days, with a side trip to Mae Sam Leap (a former black market zone on the river separating Burma from Thailand), but I decided that duty called and I could take no more than 2 days away from work. So we opted to take my Honda Dream (100cc engine) and a hired Dream (for R.) half-way, to Mae Salid or thereabouts, over 2 days. I've been as far as Mae La Refugee Camp before (60km), but not beyond and not on a motorbike.
I confess to having been inspired by Christian Gooden's recent update of Three Pagodas: A Journey Down the Thai-Burmese Border.
My motorbike had been in the shop. Went to pick it up the night before, wasn't even touched. Hrmph. 'TIT" This is Thailand. No problem, it'll be fine they tell me, just carry some oil. Ok. Next morning. It doesn't start. Now, I've always had a problem with the kick start - it's just lame-o me right? Well, wasn't starting... ok. Push it to the shop. On the positive side of TIT: we walked up with the bike, the guys swarmed on it. Service is good here, usually. The old guy muttered something along the lines of "stupid farang" and checked the petrol first (ha! It was full! Pbtthhh!) Ok, so next up. Well, in a matter of minutes, they'd changed the spark plug, charged me 50 baht (US$1.20) and I was good to go. I wondered briefly if "not starting = omen"? Nah. Stupid superstition. Gotta run to work for a little bit, R. goes to pick up his hire bike. Meet at the office. All set. I start. Ah lovely, it wasn't just me! New spark plug = starts beautifully! He starts. Nope. Try again. Nope. Again. Nope. Uh-oh. Maybe this really IS an omen? Not superstitious but...... It starts. Woohoo! We're off.
Whoa! Amazing trip. The views are spectacular: Karstic mountains with varying formations, running along the border: the Moei River ever so majestic, and the villages along the way (mostly Karen) friendly and interesting. I took some pictures, but many of the things we saw could just not be conveyed adequately with pictures: the group of 15 Karen just beyond the camp, from small children to old folks, walking along the road, each carrying a 15ft bamboo log, probably for building their house; the eerie feeling of standing next to the guard "tower" (made of bamboo - in the US one might call the same structure a tree house) on the Thai/KNLA controlled side of the river, looking across to DKBA/SLORC territory in the forbidden mountainous jungle; the mystery of the dense virgin forest.....
The road is mostly paved, apart from a stretch about 5km (seemed like more than 10) somewhere south of Mae Salid, where they are re-doing the road. I don't like riding on the dirt, even though it’s packed. I was very nervous, but managed. Slowly. R. close behind, following my lead. This trip was meant to be another caving trip - to Mae U-Su cave, about 100km north of Mae Sot. We saw the cave turn off, but we were hungry, decided to move on to Mae Salid and we'd hit the cave on the way back.
We got to Mae Salid. Not much there. We're feeling good, my gas gauge says >1/4. Hmmm. I was told about a resort north of Mae Salid about 20km called something like "Pa...". Ok, let's aim for that. Ride a long way....my petrol gauge now looks dangerously close to E. R.'s says >1/4 though, and it's the same bike, so should have the same size gas tank? Memories of Phang-Nga. (I realise NOW, I could have just stopped and looked inside the tank, and if I could SEE petrol, know I was fine. Live and Learn). 20 km. A little worried. See something that says, in English "welcome". Check that out. It's some sort of military station but only two guys are there. The guy there told me the word but I didn't understand it. He says "Pa Pa Valley is 8km. Yes, they have petrol." My broken Thai and his broken English proving useful. And we can use their toilets. OK! Yes! This is what we're looking for!
A few km, see a police hut and some big sign, all in Thai. Nah, that's not it. Ride on.
I'm in the lead, we're going reasonably slow (avg 60kph, depending on how flat, curves, etc). Suddenly, the paved road turns to a small dirt patch. Clearly the road had been washed away in the last rainy season. Slow down quickly. Hit a hole. I am airborne. "Control Cherise. Focus." Yes! I land, balanced. Amazing myself. But the force of the landing makes my water bottle pop out of the basket in the front, I start to pull off to the side and turn around. Somehow I saw split seconds of R. airborne and heard "SKID! CRUNCH!" For the second split second wonder if my pulling off quickly caused it. No, though it happened so fast, the water bottle flying thru the air made him look at just the wrong time: when he was airborne on the same patch, causing an ever so slight turn of the front wheel, an off balance landing, and CRASH. He had the presence of mind to pull his body out, so the bike didn't land on top of him, though it caught his foot. Managed to get the bike upright and him and it out of the way. Check: Broken bones? No. Phew! Feeling ok? OK. Lots of ugly scrapes on the arms and knees, and hands. Ouch. Deep breath. Ok, let's see the bike. The pedal is knocked back so that it's blocking the kick starter. Like an angel from heaven, or....just the sangthaew from Mae Sot to Mae Sariang, a pickup appears. They stop, ask if we're ok, offer ointment for R.'s clearly torn up arm (and legs - the bloody trousers were a giveaway). Then the driver and a passenger get out to check out the bike, use a bamboo pole to hammer the pedal back, and start the bike - yeah! Make sure we're ok. Other passengers say Pa Pa Valley, just 2km.
Fall off a horse, get back on. Fall off a motorbike in the middle of nowhere? Not much choice. Ride on. See the sign for Pa Pa Valley, down a little hill. Deep Breath. Ok. I'm more nervous than R. now, and it wasn't me who crashed! We make it into the gate. Looks deserted. Hrmmm. We ARE in the middle of nowhere. Go in. 2 guys are sitting at a platform up front. We say "Tii nii? Pa Pa Valley ReSORT?" (here? Pa Pa Valley?) "Mai Mii" (no have- huh???) Somehow the information is conveyed, sure, this is the place, and the buildings are still here, but there's no resort anymore. It's closed for good. Ok. Ummm. Okkkkk. "Petrol? Gasoline?" "Mai mii." Ask again, maybe they didn't understand. "Mai mii." Ok, first things first. They get fresh water to clean R.'s wounds. And we'll have to head back. They tell us there's petrol 6km back (we didn't see, but we'll figure it out). R. manages to get back on the bike, yet again.
This whole area, whilst on the Thai side of the border, is mainly peopled by the Karen: Some Thai Karen, many Burmese Karen who've fled across the border. One thing about all this, we learned of the incredible generosity and kindness of the Karen people. Not that I'm surprised, it merely validated what I already knew and had heard about, but it was still a comforting reminder of the goodness of people. Everyone offered help (Though many found the humour in these two crazy farangs).
Rode back 6km to where we saw the police hut. Someone comes out, looks at R., "Moto CY?" heh, yeah. "Gasoline?" I say. He points us in the direction of the village - an odd setting, as 1) it was thru a very well marked entrance zone (not normal) and 2) the existence of a Police Hut essentially manning the entrance/exit, which is why we weren't sure it was even a village the first pass thru. The village is Ban Ta Song Yang. Turns out, this village is down 1km off the road, on the Moei river, and in recent years was a major Black Market port for the Karen State (Kawthoolei) and later a site of major battles between the KNLA and DKBA/SLORC.
We head down. Beautiful place. Interesting mix of traditional houses (stilts, bamboo) and more 'modern' Thai style - concrete + teak, normally associated with wealthy towns. (Wealth in such an isolated area has questionable sources.) Petrol can be had in the usual place - a little open air minimart, with a couple of plastic containers and a drum full of fuel. We refill our tanks. The Karen ladies see R.'s torn up arms and take pity. "Wait a moment" they say (at least I think that's what they said). Thru a series of hand gestures, Thai words and some Karen words, it's clear they're doing something to help. They hand us stools to sit on. Meanwhile people come by to admire the wounds. I figure out one of the ladies has gone to get something. I tell them not to worry, we'll ride back, don't trouble. But they insist. Someone runs to a phone booth across the way, within minutes a lady motors up with some iodine in hand. They give us fresh water, gauze and iodine to clean the wounds. One of the ladies is trying to show me how to apply it, where to put it properly. Despite his wounds, R. is liking the fuss of the ladies. I offer to pay them something for the iodine and gauze. "No" they insist. Yes I insist. No they insist. Ok. I pay for the water bottle, casually leave the 15 baht change (~ US$0.30) on the stool, hoping they are not offended.
So now we're the talk of Mae Sariang (where the people in the sangthaew were heading) and Ban Ta Song Yang. Stupid Farangs. We ride off the 15 km back to Mae Salid.
Find the Mae Salid Guesthouse. It's right next to a school and the school is just letting out, which means lines of kids walking past (they are so orderly!). So we wait. Now, not only are we two farangs in a place few farangs visit these days, but we're on motorbikes, and one is clearly full of banged up knees and arms. And the other is a GIRL! We provide yet another spectacle....and a source of humour.
Saw Pi from the Guesthouse must have been told by one of the students that we were there, because he comes down and asks if we need a place to stay. Yes, we say. This is easy. He shows us up. Mae Salid Guesthouse ranks among the lowest of the places I've ever stayed, and I've stayed in some lousy places. It clearly has seen better days. Saw Pi makes up for it. And hey, it has a "shower." The slats for beds and communal bathroom are fine, as, no one else is there (and only about 5 visitors have stayed in 2003). Still, for 160Baht for two of us (~$3.50) it's overpriced. But Saw Pi - I'd easily pay him 200 baht for the entertainment and stories. Luckily, the water comes ON at 4pm and it's 4pm now. So R., very painfully, is able to wash out his wounds more thoroughly in the 'shower' (which is actually a hose). Saw Pi, seeing his wounds, has already seen the motorbike and figured it all out, along with everyone else in Mae Salid. He kindly offers us his alcohol (of the rubbing sort, not to drink) and gauze, and shows us where to get more and some bandages. In our confusion, it takes a little while to find the shop, but no worries, that only means that yet more people in the village have seen us and offer help..... someone walks us over to the shop (about to close, looks more like a garage anyway). The lady loads us up with more gauze, alcohol, mercurotome, and bandages. I try to pay with a 500 baht note (~US$12), she laughs and says "30 baht" (~ 75 cents). I'm still amazed at how cheap things are here!
Back to the guesthouse. Saw Pi serves us dinner, hang out on the veranda, tells us stories of Burma (where he's from), the Karen, Mannerplaw (where the old KNU HQ used to be before it fell in 95), what Mae Salid was like, and oddly enough, about my "old friend" Sombat. That's Police Capt Sombat, of Umphang Hill Resort (aka Mud Trek "no rain!" ie JERK!) Turns out Sombat is quite the man in these parts. Controls much of Tak and Mae Hong Son Provinces. Saw Pi brings out a scrap book of pictures. Whoa! I immediately recognise Sombat with KNLA Head Bo Mya (whose birthday celebration I attended) and other senior KNU men. Worlds collide! This is waaaaay too weird! He's apparently also a big man in Mae Sot. Not just from what he owns, but he's Thai military (police; same thing) and has significant influence along the border. This explains everything! Eventually Saw Pi drags out his guitar, and he and R. start singing Dire Straits songs.
The First Day. Always an adventure with Cherise!
Who wants to come to visit next? ;)
Follow up: yeah, we made it back safely, Skipped Mae U-su cave, too wiped out to stop. R. + Cherise + motorbikes does NOT = caving. In our intent to see many caves on these motorbike journeys, we saw one, and not much more than the entrance at that. By this point, just wanted to get home. And somehow we made it back in one piece, leaving behind only bits of R.'s arms and knees and palms. After the isolation of the roads, Mae Sot might as well have been Bangkok for its traffic.
And hey, there's always a story to tell!
Glossary:
KNU = Karen National Union
KNLA = Karen National Liberation Army
DKBA = Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (splinter from KNLA, joined with SLORC, but rumour has it....well, it's complicated)
SLORC = State Law and Order Restoration Committee (offshoot of "SPDC" = State Peace and Development Council) aka Burmese military junta forces
Farang = white, foreigner (or literally 'gauva')
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